Process of Elimination
by In the House
Summary: House tries to select a new team member to fill Thirteen's spot but unexpectedly winds up on a difficult and personal case during the testing of the candidates, and Thomas Thornton moves to Princeton. Follows the Facts of Life in the Pranks series. H/C with Jensen, Thomas, and kids.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Process of Elimination

Rating: T

Disclaimer: House, Cuddy, Rachel, Wilson, and the old team are not my creations. Jensen, Thomas, Abby, Belle, Patterson, Sandra, this universe's version of Cuddy's parents, the new team candidates, and Jet are my creations, but I am making no money from the story.

Series: This story follows the Facts of Life in the Pranks universe, which veered away from the TV series halfway through the Greater Good.

A/N: Here we go on another long roller coaster with lots of fun, adventure, and angst ahead. Updates will be as I am able. RL is intense, and also, all of my music groups are in full swing right now, with six performances that I know of so far between now and Christmas. Fanfiction must take a back seat when the obligations collide. But the story is all done mentally. Hope you enjoy the ride!

(H/C)

Brilliant sunlight flooded the field, and a light, warm wind played with the young leaves on the trees. A perfect spring morning in early May. A rabbit paused with his nervous ears twitching, then scampered for safety as hoof beats sounded along the trail. He disappeared just before two horses emerged into the clearing, trotting side by side. Thomas sat more deeply and gave the slightest tightening of his fingers against the reins, and Ember obediently dropped into a walk, Houdini doing likewise a second later. Thomas looked at his watch. "We'd better be heading back," he said, and his voice was a blend of anticipation and regret. "I don't need to be too much past noon leaving the city."

Lewis smiled over at his friend. Just now, when Thomas wasn't trying to keep a lid on it, the anticipation definitely outweighed the regret. Oh, he was sure Thomas would miss him and all the others after so many years in St. Louis, but he also couldn't wait to start his new life. "Let's walk them around the field first while we can still talk. We won't be able to back at the stable."

Thomas followed his lead, the two horses walking quietly along. "The last ride," he noted. "I'm going to miss you, Lewis."

"I refuse to miss you, because if you don't stay in touch and give me updates on how it's going with your family up there, I'll track you down in New Jersey." Thomas grinned. "And you'll have to send me a picture of Rachel with her pony when she eventually gets one."

"I will," Thomas promised. "That's one reason it took me so long to pick a stable. I wanted a quality place for Ember, of course, but I also wanted a stable that has a whole age range in their lesson program. When she's ready to start, she can ride right there." His smile widened. "Just think, Lewis, someday I'll probably be taking a trail ride with my granddaughter. Just last year . . ." He didn't finish the sentence. "How things can change."

"You deserve it." Lewis knew how hard the last few years had been on his friend. Thomas had been totally obsessed with Emily's illness. It was Lewis who had managed to keep him from selling Ember; in that last year before Emily's death, Thomas had started feeling guilty for not having enough time for the mare lately and had decided it was better to let her go. Lewis, who had known him twenty years, knew what a release riding was for him and how much he would need that immediately available without obstacles when the time came. Furthermore, Emily had known and admired Ember. Some day, when his friend had emerged on the other side of the inevitable, that fact would mean a lot to him. Besides, he and Ember fit each other like hand in glove. So Lewis had volunteered to keep the mare exercised and filled with her quota of carrots, and whenever Thomas wanted her, she would be right there.

Thomas had disappeared right after the funeral, though he did take time to make sure that Lewis would take care of his horse, would take his car out for a drive now and then to keep it running, and he also told him not to worry if he didn't communicate while he was gone. Of course, Lewis worried. Thomas had been there for him after his own wife's death five years earlier. His friend _needed_ his support system now. Heading off on his own - Thomas hadn't narrowed it down any further than Europe and only gave up that much grudgingly - was the last thing he needed. That whole year, Lewis diligently had tried to stay in touch. He quickly discovered that the cell phone was never answered, but email did not bounce. So he sent email updates, pictures of Ember, tales from the stable, _anything_ every week or two, simply letting his friend know that he was still there without demands, just availability.

Then had come the day after eleven months that Thomas finally replied to an email. Only a few words, not really saying anything about himself, just a question about the horse. Slowly, a few halting words became sentences. The day he came home, he called Lewis and asked him to meet him at the airport. He had been thinner, totally silver-haired now, with lines on his face that hadn't been there before and a smile that was slower to light, but he was _back_. The next day, they took a ride together.

A few days later, Lewis had found the message on his cell phone one morning when he woke up. "Got to go out of town for a week or so. Take care of Ember." Thomas' voice had frightened him. The pure pain and shock in it rivaled even that when Emily died. He tried calling back, and Thomas eventually emailed him a day or two later, as if afraid to trust his voice in a conversation. He was fine; he'd be back soon. Lewis hadn't believed it, of course, but he knew that trying to dig something out of Thomas that he didn't want to tell was pointless.

Thomas had been different on his return, obviously shaken to the core by some new, undefined crisis. He had never been entirely predictable, but he became even less so. He took long solitary rides with Ember at all hours of the day as well as meeting Lewis for their regular trail rides and lunches. He tried to talk and act as usual, but now and then, in unguarded moments, he would stare into space with inexpressible pain in his eyes, yet sometimes, he would smile to himself, too. His friends noticed, but most of them simply put it down to adjustment to life without Emily. Lewis had known there was something else, something on top of the grief, as if that alone hadn't been enough to carry. Slowly, the new tension had started to relax, though it never left, and now and then, Thomas could be heard humming to himself in his off-tune way; music, he had always said, was his father's gift, not his. During the trip to Lexington for a funeral, Thomas hadn't dropped out of contact nor concealed where he was, though Lewis could tell there was more that he wasn't saying. Then came his "vacation," as he had called it, to the Northeast in March, a trip that could have killed him but left him a hero instead.

Lewis had been relieved to see him return a few weeks later with not only an impressive scar along his temple but a new light in his eyes. "Come over to my place for dinner tonight," he had invited that first day back. "I need to talk to you." Talk he did for over an hour, like a dam with a fresh spillway opened, giving the true back story on the last year. He had been so _proud_ of his new family, showing pictures of his granddaughters and his son and daughter-in-law, and he obviously had been near delirious in the relief of being able to _tell_ someone, even though he made it clear to Lewis that this wasn't yet unrestricted knowledge. But he could finally at least tell his best friend about his son.

His _son_. Lewis had read up on Greg afterwards in the news of the Chandler trial, refreshing his memory from what had been only a generic media story, inspiring but nothing to do with him. Thomas' son. Yes, looking for it, he could see the resemblance in character and a little in appearance. A lot of past to be overcome, but Thomas was making progress steadily now.

"Lewis?" He looked over.

"Just thinking. I'm so happy for you, Thomas. And I understand why you couldn't talk before, but keep me in the loop now, okay?

"I will," his friend repeated. "It killed me not to be able to tell anyone. Except Ember, that is. She knew."

"Well, she kept your secret." Lewis looked at his own watch as the horses completed their ambling circuit of the field. "We do need to get back. About Ember, you said the estimate was for Thursday?"

"Thursday morning roughly. The shipping company didn't want to call it closer than that this far out. Their route changes too much every time across the country, and they might have a tough loader or something; they take as much time as they need at each stop. But they have Bob's number."

"I'll ask him to call me when he knows they're almost here, and I'll come out and give her a goodbye carrot." He grinned again, an expression he was having trouble hiding the last few weeks. "Let me know what Rachel thinks of her."

"Oh, I will. I'm sure she'll insist on meeting her soon. Abby probably will, too; she doesn't seem to have the horse bug, but she's curious about things in general. Feel free to have a couple of farewell rides yourself next week." Thomas ran an affectionate hand down his horse's neck. "Thank you, Lewis, for everything you've done for her. And for me."

"You're sounding too much like you're heading off into the sunset again. You've hit your quota on falling off the face of the earth, Thomas. This isn't goodbye; it's just a transition. Like changing gaits. Come on, let's trot for a while." Houdini picked up the gait promptly, and Ember surged up next to him, her long legs flashing.

Thomas smiled again. "It's a _beautiful_ morning."

"That it is," Lewis agreed. They trotted on together down the trail.

They walked the last half mile to the stable to cool off the horses, talking or not talking in the comfortable, undemanding way of long-time friends. As they clip-clopped up to the back door of the barn, Thomas stared. Everybody was there, not just the usual Saturday riding coordinated chaos of a busy stable, but _everybody_, all of them waiting in the aisle in front of a tack trunk serving as a table for a big cake. A 5-pound bag of carrots was beside it, and a sign stretched across the aisle in between two stall doors. _Happy Trails, Thomas and Ember!_ The people poured out of the barn to surround him, familiar faces, old friends, recent friends.

Thomas looked over at Lewis. "So that's why you wanted to delay a little at the field."

Lewis shrugged and dismounted. "Had to make sure they were ready. Come on; there's a cake waiting."

Thomas slipped out of the saddle. The crowd pushed up, enjoying springing their surprise, but everybody knew, too, that the two horses had to be taken care of before the celebration could start. Horses came first; that was the rule of the stable. Once Ember and Houdini were groomed and settled back in their stalls, the party began.

(H/C)

He was running late when he finally got away, but that extra hour had been worth it. He gave Ember a pat, promising to see her in a week or so, and then walked out of the barn for the last time. His saddle was over his arm, his bridle jingling in his hand. Bob walked alongside him. "Enjoy your second retirement, Thomas." That was the official public cover story, that he just needed a change of scene, a place to settle in and start a new life in a place not so permeated with the ones he had lost. "I'll call you to let you know when Ember's on the truck."

"You'd better." They stopped at the BMW, and Thomas put his tack in the trunk. He then turned back to Bob, another old friend. Bob was the same age as Tim, and those two had been inseparable. Thomas had watched him grow up from a teen to a responsible stable manager who had taken over from his father. "Thanks for taking care of my girl, Bob."

Bob nodded. Expressing his own feelings had never been his strong point, though he could talk for hours about horses. "Bye, Thomas," he said gruffly. He reached out for an awkward handshake, then turned away quickly.

Thomas took a last sweeping look himself, soaking up thirty years worth of memories of this place. He would paint it, he decided. That would be a good thank you present to mail to Bob. Then he drove away.

Back at his house, he took a quick shower and changed into comfortable jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. The house felt almost deserted already. The furniture he was keeping had been picked up by the moving company yesterday and was to arrive in Princeton on Wednesday, the day after closing on his new house. Of course, there had been a lot he _couldn't_ take, and sorting through everything the last few weeks had been unexpectedly challenging. He was far from materialistic, but there were so many memories wrapped up in the household. He had a suspicion that even what he had narrowed it down to was going to be a tight fit in the new place, but he could always eliminate a few other things if he had to once he saw it all in place. Meanwhile, the things he _wasn't_ keeping had gone to consignment sellers, to charity, or to good friends. Now, the only things left in the mostly empty house were a few pieces that friends hadn't be able to pick up yet; Lewis would coordinate that.

His footsteps echoing off the empty walls, Thomas took a final tour of the upstairs, pausing for a long time in their bedroom. Nothing was left here, nothing but the memories. The bed, dresser, and nightstands were on the moving company's truck, and he had slept on a couch downstairs last night. He took a last look around, remembering, silently thanking the house. Then he walked back down the stairs, touring the first floor as well, then loaded the last few pieces going immediately with him into the BMW. A suitcase with a few changes of clothes. A rosebush, the smallest in Emily's bed, planted by her five years ago and carefully dug up by him last night. He tucked it in the rear floorboard and blocked it in. One final round, and then he carefully locked up, backed the car down the driveway past the for-sale sign, and turned into the street.

Before leaving the city, he made one final stop. For several minutes, he stood in the cemetery at her grave, looking at the stone he had designed long-distance from Europe after her death. Roses climbed the edge of her side of the double stone and extended across the top, and then at the bottom were lines she had loved from a poem by Conrad Aiken. _Music I heard with you was more than music, and bread I broke with you was more than bread._ He remembered the utter lostness he had felt after her death.

Reaching into his pocket, he took out his wallet and unfolded a paper he kept in there along with the pictures of his family. He had found this poem in the nightstand after he returned from Europe. Her beloved writing, a bit shaky with illness, but still every stroke familiar. She had always loved poetry, and they often read to each other, but she had not delivered this one personally. Obviously, she had known he was not ready for it during her illness, during the frantic fight when he was determined to save her. Instead, she had written it down in one of the rare snatched moments alone, probably while he was cooking or doing something else for her, because nothing but her had existed for him by the end. She had written it privately and had left it for him, and well over a year later, he had found it.

_Do not stand at my grave and weep_

_I am not there. I do not sleep._

_I am a thousand winds that blow._

_I am the diamond glints on snow._

_I am the sunlight on ripened grain._

_I am the gentle autumn rain._

_When you awaken in the morning's hush_

_I am the swift uplifting rush_

_Of quiet birds in circled flight._

_I am the soft stars that shine at night._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry;_

_I am not there. I did not die. _

_Mary Elizabeth Frye _

That author's name carefully added at the end had amused him. So Emily. She was unable to avoid citing her source, even in farewell, even when writing was an effort. "You asked me to promise you to find something else to focus on," he told her. "I didn't want to that day, but I've kept my promise, love." He blinked. "I know you aren't here. You'll always be with me."

His cell phone rang, spilling the tones of the Beatles into the old, hushed cemetery. _Here Comes the Sun_. With a smile, Thomas answered. "Hello, Greg."

"Hey, old man, did you forget to call or just change your mind? The wife is starting to get down to specific worries instead of general ones." Thomas had promised he would call them when he left the city, though his meandering drive across the country, including a short stop in Ohio on the way at his old hometown, was going to take him clear through Monday afternoon.

"I didn't forget, Greg; I'm just running a little late. They gave me a surprise farewell party at the stable, and it took a while to say goodbye to everyone."

"You've got that many friends there? You know, you don't _have_ to do this."

There it was again, that insecurity buried underneath an increasing sharpness of tone that tried unsuccessfully to cover it. "I _want_ to, Greg. What I'm going to is a lot more than what I'm leaving. I can't wait to get to Princeton and be close to you."

Silence for a moment. "If you're going to be late Monday, be sure to call ahead. That gives me a chance to keep Lisa from worrying so much."

Thomas grinned. "I'll keep in touch all the way so she won't have to wonder about me. I'll be fine, Greg. I enjoy trip driving." True, but he wasn't used to doing it solo.

"Don't forget, I want to see the sacred Beamer, so it needs to be in one piece."

"It will be." He glanced at his watch. "I'd really better hit the road now. That party did throw me off."

""Kay." Thomas heard a toilet flush. "Here, talk to the wife for a minute and let her know you're alive." A door opened. "Lisa!" Greg called, right in Thomas' ear, and he flinched. "He's leaving now."

Her quick footsteps approached, and Thomas listened to them, appreciating how familiar they had become. "Thomas? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Lisa. They had a surprise farewell party for me and Ember at the stable, so I got delayed. I've already left the house, actually. I just had one quick stop to make first, but I'm about to hit the highway."

"You stopped by the cemetery," his daughter-in-law guessed promptly.

"Yes." He looked at the stone again, then down at the poem, and he started folding up the sheet one-handed and putting it away.

"You be careful driving."

"I will. I'll call you tonight from a motel when I stop. Tomorrow is Ohio, and then Monday evening, I'll see you."

Rachel's footsteps, just as recognizable and a lot faster, scampered up. "I wanna talk to Grandpa Thomas!" she demanded.

"Not right now," Lisa insisted. "He'll talk to you tonight, okay? He needs to leave now so he can drive before it gets dark."

Thomas couldn't resist the title that both of his granddaughters used. "Oh, let me talk to her. I won't take long."

She sighed but handed off the phone. "Hi, Grandpa Thomas!"

"Hi, Rachel. I'm on the way there. I'll see you Monday night."

"Yay! But not Ember?"

"No, not Ember yet. Ember can't ride in my car; she doesn't fit in the seat." Rachel giggled at the image. "So she's coming a few days later in a big truck. I can't really talk long now, but I'll be there soon. I promise. Can I talk to Abby?"

"Abby!" Rachel shared her father's style of calling others while holding a phone, and Thomas flinched again. "Talk to Grandpa Thomas. Here. But just for a minute; he's gotta leave."

The cell phone was passed off again. "Hi, Grandpa Thomas."

"Hi, Abby. I was just letting you know I'd be there soon. I'll see you Monday."

"Sunday, Monday." She paused. "_Work_ day."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see. "Exactly. Monday is the first day your parents go back to work after the weekend. I'll see you then, but it will be after they get home from work."

"Okay." Her mother's voice could be heard in the background, and Abby dutifully repeated the message. "Mama says bye."

"Bye to everybody. I'll call tonight." He hit off, then spoke to the tombstone again. "That was Greg and his family. Oh, I wish you could have known them, Em." He put his cell phone away, then reached forward to trace the letters on the granite, but he changed his mind after the E. The letters were cold. She had been warm and alive. She wasn't really here anyway, like she'd said. He turned away, getting into the waiting BMW after a final pretrip stretch and then heading for the highway.

When he passed the city limits, he didn't look back.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Things have been very busy, and my project for spare time the last few days went to filling out all the paperwork for the annual review for Mom's case which had a tight deadline. But here's an update finally.

One comment on names as we meet the new team candidates. Lots of OCs coming in during this story. Unless I specifically say so, I have not been inspired by characters from anywhere else in stories, books, TV, movies, etc., for OCs that I introduce. It's almost impossible to come up with a name nobody else has used at least in part somewhere before, but any similarity is pure coincidence. I only recently found out that House the TV show had introduced a "Thomas" as a father figure after I stopped watching. My Thomas has nothing at all to do with that one, not even the source for the name. He was Thomas from the beginning to me, and I liked the alliteration with Thornton, as well as the family alliterative and sequential naming trend, which is something House could mock while privately being intrigued by, as he is with anything in the family category that isn't fake, belittling, or painful. I remember somebody also asked me once months ago about Belle's name, if I got that from something or other to do with Hugh. Since I hadn't even seen the movie referenced, no, it wasn't.

Anyway, if I borrow inspiration, I do try to credit it, so if I don't credit it, just assume they are entirely independent creations, not any sort of attempt by name or otherwise at a "spin-off" from something else, even something else Housian. I'm sure my movie/show education is less than 90% of the readers have. I've never seen Hugh in anything besides House and haven't seen all of the House episodes - although there are a few interesting-sounding other Hugh things that have been mentioned over the years by readers that are on the "when I have spare time" list to check out. Spare time is still at a premium, so I'm not down to finding and watching them yet.

Enjoy and thanks for all the reviews. I have dress rehearsal and a concert this weekend, so probably no time for an update until next week.

(H/C)

"BZZZZZZZ!" House made his own far-louder buzzer sound as Cavity Sam's nose lit up. "Minus 100 points."

Monica Ramirez looked up with a sigh from her failed attempt to extract the funny bone from the Operation board. House tapped the timer which was sitting on his desk. "Clock is ticking," he reminded her. "The case has to be completed within 3 minutes, or the patient dies." Ramirez obviously bit back a comment and returned to fishing with the tweezers for the game piece.

"We're not even using the official rules," Erin Hollingwood protested.

"Rules?" House repeated. "You want to use the _rules_? Forget about rules. Diseases don't know the rules; they haven't read them." Ramirez succeeded in fishing out the funny bone and moved over to the broken heart. House gave her an approving nod. "50 points gained back. But the time limit just changed." He bumped the timer up 30 seconds. Ramirez glared at him, but she knew by now the futility of protesting that something wasn't fair. She redoubled her efforts, trying to be careful and speedy at the same time.

"The time limit changed? Just for her or for the rest of us, too?" Steve Templeton asked.

"Depends on how annoying you are. Yours might be one minute," House shot back. Templeton compressed his lips into a tight line, and the thought bubble over his head was almost visible as it counted up years he had spent in medical school leading to _this_. "Sometimes the time limit changes when we're on a case," House continued. "Things suddenly get worse. We can either waste time protesting that that's not fair or wasn't in the rules, or we can do our best to keep going as quickly but logically as we can toward the diagnosis." Ramirez picked out the broken heart and moved on to the spare ribs.

House studied the three of them as the game continued. Three candidates, selected from a number of applicants that had surprised him. He had considered picking a whole room full again, just to rile Cuddy and even more the board, who had been increasingly vocal in their demands that he should fill Hadley's former position, but somehow, his heart wasn't quite in the game this time. The circumstances of Hadley's death remained a sore point, although sessions with Jensen had worked through much of his own guilt. But replacing her seemed so final. It had been a year and a half since her death, and while Cuddy had been trying to be patient and understanding with him, even her patience on the empty slot in Diagnostics was running low. She _did_ have a limit to her patience, and while he enjoyed pushing it, he didn't enjoy breaking it, especially when outside pressure on her as an administrator was building.

Budget talks in late February had been the tipping point with the board; either Diagnostics should fill that other salary allotted or release the funds to another department. House's suggestions for a few other ways to spend the money within Diagnostics had not been appreciated. Then he had gotten hurt at the track, but the board saw no reason why he couldn't sort through candidates while recuperating, and they, of course, didn't know everything else that was going on with Thornton. To them, it was a simple case of broken ribs, nothing approaching the stress of Hadley's death and the Chandler trial, which was the excuse Cuddy had given them all through the last year and a half. His mother's death had gained him a few more months before their latest demand to put out the call for applicants, but without admitting a new acute personal stress, Cuddy couldn't delay any further.

So the position had been advertised. Candidates flooded in, most of their resumes immediately hitting the circular file. He had sorted it down to these three, and they had arrived in the middle of last week for the final process of elimination. Unfortunately, their appearance coincided with a dearth of cases. The only patient since Wednesday had been utterly boring. He gained a little bit of time running over old files with the current team's input, recreating the cases, but Foreman had barely participated. Apparently _he_ was finding replacing Hadley a hard final bite to swallow himself. House had finally dismissed him and Taub to do clinic duty today, and Kutner, who would have been far more fun to have around during the testing of the candidates, was on vacation this week. So Operation it was, but House shared Templeton's unspoken opinion that this was a waste of time. How he wished for a patient, a nice, juicy, _challenging_ patient, a live test for them to cut their teeth on while he observed.

The timer sounded, and Ramirez sat back in defeat. "Not bad, but not good enough," House commented. "The patient just died. Hollingwood, you're up." He reset the timer to 2 1/2 minutes. "Ready, set, _go_."

She sat rather primly in the chair in front of his desk as she started, her posture protesting while her hands went to work. Hollingwood was a first-rate if young doctor; they all were. She had been at the head of every class on the way to her specialty in pulmonology. But she had an annoying by-the-book streak. He had selected her to see just how dogmatic she was about that and if she could adapt. She had potential; all of her references she'd listed and even the ones he had called whom she hadn't listed spoke well of her, but no one had called her imaginative.

Ramirez, the cardiologist, was the one out to prove a point by overcoming her past. He wasn't sure of the exact details of her past, and whatever she was trying to conquer had occurred far earlier than the past he was able to check on so far. But she might as well have worn it printed on a T-shirt. Her entire medical degree and her success in education to this point were obviously a mental bird flipped to somebody or something years ago. House was intrigued. Of course, he could hire Lucas, but that was no fun. Much better to work the puzzle on his own as he could. Fascinating as she may be, it was her medical and diagnostic skills that would determine whether she won the position in the end.

Then there was Templeton. Ruthless, determined, he reminded House of a male version of Amber. He had specialized in neurology. He was also the most offended at the Operation game. Ramirez thought it juvenile but had done her damnedest anyway; Hollingwood disapproved but was humoring the boss. Templeton wanted to win, and he wanted to win on _patients_, real live patients, not some game. He wanted to win on the position, as well. If Operation was required, he would do it, but he still thought it a waste of time. As House watched right now, he shifted his position in his chair, accidentally on purpose jostling Hollingwood's arm, and she clipped the side of the cavity. Sam's nose lit up as the buzzer sounded. Hollingwood looked at Templeton, then the timer, and resumed focus, drawing herself up a little more tightly.

House nodded. "Can't let yourself get distracted. 50 points. And Templeton, your time limit did just go to one minute. Competition is one thing, but we can't lose sight of the final point, which is diagnosing the patient. Sabotaging teammates isn't going to help the patient, so when you _do_ sabotage somebody, do it while the timer isn't running." Hollingwood succeeded in bring up the ankle bone connected to the knee bone just as the timer sounded.

Templeton pulled the game board over more toward himself and waited, poised, as House set the timer at one minute. "Go." He started with admirable dexterity, quickly retrieving the first three pieces, working from the brain down. He was just going for another cavity when House's ball zipped six inches by his head. He jumped in spite of himself, and the nose flashed as Sam protested.

"And that's not sabotage?" Templeton objected.

House shrugged. "This isn't a real patient. It's just a game. And distractions will happen on a case; you have to be able to focus." He had caught the ball neatly on rebound, and now he tossed it on either side of Templeton, keeping the pattern unpredictable, as the final seconds ticked down. The buzzer sounded. "_And_ the verdict is that none of you won. The patient died. Have to do better than that, egglings." Hollingwood thought of asking about the last word and then bit back the comment. She was learning already, just in a few days, even if her expressions were eloquent. "You're not ducklings yet. Haven't hatched, and only one of you will."

At that moment, House's cell phone rang. It was Thornton. He considered, then answered in Dutch. "Hello."

Thomas replied in the same language just to be symmetrical, though there were no background sounds. He was probably alone in the car at a rest stop, House decided. "Is this a bad time, Greg?"

"It's an interesting time." House watched the three egglings. Ramirez was trying to figure out the call and fill in the blanks, as was Hollingwood, though Hollingwood was working just from curiosity. For Ramirez, she was wondering if this was some sort of additional test and was determined to do her best at it if so. Templeton was trying to look like he didn't care what the call was about, but he, too, was listening. None of them understood the language. "How's the long and winding road?" House asked the old man.

Thomas' voice relaxed a little, convinced that whatever was going on, his son didn't object to the disruption and was only trying to annoy or interest somebody. "Definitely long, at least. It will be over 1000 miles by tonight."

"You're the one who made it longer than it had to be," House reminded him. "Going clear up to north Ohio added an extra jag."

"I wanted to see the place, and it seemed like a good opportunity while I was changing gears. It wasn't that far out of the way. I've only been back once since Mom and Dad died, and that was with Emily and Tim when I left the Marines."

House couldn't imagine wanting to visit a hometown. He couldn't imaging _having _a hometown. Not one from childhood, anyway. "News flash, old man. It's still there. A map would have told you that."

"Some of the people are still there. It was fun reminiscing with them about old times." His voice sounded wistful for a moment. "Dad was such a character, but they remember Mom, too. As for the places, the stable where I kept Trigger is now a mall. The house is still there, but it's been painted _green_." He sounded offended.

"Paint doesn't last 60 years, you know."

"I know, but it just seems like it should be white. It was always white. That's part of the order of the universe." Thomas chuckled slightly, laughing at himself, an ability that House was still amazed by. John House had never to his knowledge laughed in humor, not at himself or at anybody else. Laughter had been ominous, full of private plans. House wrenched his thoughts back from the past.

"You're on time for today, though?"

"A little ahead. Make it about 5:30." The pure anticipation in Thomas's voice was enough to send his son on another bewildered differential. There was nothing else there. He simply wanted to see them.

House dodged. "I've got to get going now. I'll tell the wife." That line was given in five rapid-fire languages, two words each, as he watched the egglings for an impulse pop quiz. Ramirez spoke Spanish, but that had been an easy guess anyway. Hollingwood knew a bit of French but was rusty; probably hadn't used it since high school classes. Templeton wasn't fluent in any of them but was trying to plug in the Latin roots where applicable.

Thomas laughed, not thrown at all by the linguistic stew. "Whatever you're doing, I hope they're curious."

"And annoyed, but yes, curious." House landed on Japanese. "See you tonight, old man." He hit off and pocketed his cell phone.

Hollingwood was the first to ask, winning House's bet with himself. "Who was that?"

"The State Department. I work as a translator in my spare time." Hollingwood sighed. Templeton looked bored, working a little too hard at it, and Ramirez wondered for a few seconds if he might be serious.

Cuddy's firm step was heard coming from the elevator, and House turned toward the door. "Ah, Dr. Cuddy. Just in time. Okay, egglings, here's another test. We didn't have signed consent forms for this Operation we just conducted." Cuddy looked from him to the game board and rolled her eyes. "Explain to Dr. Cuddy why we didn't obtain proper consent before proceeding. Hollingwood, go."

Her posture was even more stiff, as if adding lack of consent to her list of things wrong with this whole exercise, but she answered promptly. "We didn't have time. It was an emergency procedure, and he was unconscious."

"Ramirez."

"The patient lacks capacity to give consent. He scored a 0 on a mini-mental status exam, no appropriate responses to questions at all, clearly extremely disoriented. There were no next-of-kin around, he was not carrying a wallet, and the procedure had to be performed. We did have multiple doctors agree to the necessity of the operation."

House grinned. "Not bad," he said admiringly. "I like the MMSE; nice touch. Templeton."

Templeton looked directly at House, then at Cuddy. "My supervisor told me to do it, so I figured that any lawsuits resulting from incomplete paperwork would land on him." Cuddy's lips quirked at that one.

"And your response, Dr. Cuddy?" House asked.

"I might buy the one from Ramirez, but you should have documented that with witnesses as a form of consent itself. There should always be _something_ documented, even if after the fact in a life-threatening emergency. Is this patient's chart complete?" Her tone at the word patient was a bit strained, but she was trying to play along.

House snapped his fingers. "Chart. He's supposed to have a chart. I _knew_ we were forgetting something." Hollingwood sighed again; she was starting to sound like a broken record. "Okay, egglings, Operation Operation is over for the moment. Your next assignment, speaking of charts. Go down to the ER. By observing from the sidelines only, not by direct questions, each of you need to find a patient who is lying about the chief complaint they gave at triage. First one back wins, unless a later one happens to have found a more interesting lie. Go."

Three chairs pushed back, and they rose. "Do _not_ interfere with patient care," Cuddy emphasized as they walked past her.

"That was implied in the _from the sidelines_ part," House said.

She closed the office door. "It didn't just need to be implied. It needed to be _emphasized._ This is a hospital, not a simulator for you to test candidates in." She looked at the Operation board with exasperation.

"There isn't a patient," House explained. "None needing Diagnostics, anyway. I had to do something with them today. What we really need is a _patient,_ one that pushes them."

"Hopefully someone in Princeton will conveniently get sick just to help you out." She walked over to the side of the desk with a quick glance at her watch on the way. It was 2:00. "Have you heard from Thomas, Greg?" She had asked him the same question at lunch, though had resisted calling herself, afraid that putting pressure on him would make Thomas drive faster.

"Just now. He's getting close. He said about 5:30 or so."

She relaxed. "Good. I just wish he'd had some company on that long drive."

"He _is_ 75, you know. He probably knows how to drive by now." He didn't admit how often _he_ had checked his cell phone for a missed call today, just in case.

She obviously heard the thought anyway, but she didn't push it. "Did you call the candidates _egglings_ a minute ago?"

"They're not ducklings until they hatch."

She rolled her eyes again, but she stepped a little closer. "I apologize for everything happening at once, Greg. I couldn't stall the board any longer without them questioning my professional competence or yours."

He tensed up at the mention of everything going on, and his joking tone was just a little strained as he replied. "You _apologize_? Come on, Lisa. That's no fun."

She started to protest, but she heard and felt the tension in him. She looked around quickly to verify that nobody was outside the closed door and that the conference room was empty. "I'm sorry, Greg," she amended.

Standing up, he swept her into his arms, and what started out as a dramatic victory, having made her give in, turned to reassurance in spite of himself, then to passion. After they parted - she would never let anything public in the hospital go too far - she sat down on the other side of the desk, and he started giving her a much more in-depth analysis to date of the three egglings.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Warning: Several folks have mentioned that FF net is playing selective email alerts at the moment and did not send them to everyone. So make sure that you have read all chapters.

Here's a short update out of a busy life. Sorry so little, but it shouldn't be as long this time until the next chapter.

About Jensen, yes, he is in this story, and we will have some sessions. One coming up in just a few chapters. He doesn't travel to the front lines personally in this one like in H&F or Father's Day, though. Also, please remember the time gap between stories. It's now two months since Father's Day, and you can assume that plenty of sessions have already been had on Thomas' move, as well as the ones to come.

About the patient, that's forthcoming, but this story does take several chapters to get there. You'll see what develops when the time comes.

We now have the glimmerings of another Pranks story, a fun family one, out there past the next big one. The next big one is the one that addresses most directly yet House's pain. Process of Elimination, of course, has a very long way to go, so I think you're set on Pranks for the next several months, if not year.

Thanks for all the reviews and enjoy chapter 3!

(H/C)

Cuddy stunned PPTH by closing down her office at 4:45 that evening. It was unheard of for her to leave early except on Fridays. (That she was in therapy herself on Fridays had been widely assumed by now from the rarely varied early schedule, but given what the week after the assassination attempt on the President had been like at the hospital, the employees of PPTH were quietly grateful for the fact and left it alone.) But this Monday, here she was locking the door, leaving a message that she was not to be called tonight except in true emergency, and heading out with an even brisker than usual click-clack of her heels.

She went up to Diagnostics first to collect House. The team and the egglings were off on some assignment, leaving him free to tease her about leaving early. She considered pointing out that he was all packed up himself for the day and just coming to his feet when she arrived, but she was afraid to push him too far on Thomas. He wasn't up to reciprocal teasing in that area yet.

They drove home together, the drive taking a little shorter time than usual - only a little, as Cuddy was driving, but the difference was there. She took his pointed comment on this in good grace. She knew her husband was as eager to see Thomas as she was; the fact that they had taken only one car in this morning had announced in advance that he had no intentions, however much he might long for a case, of staying late tonight.

Rachel was especially enthusiastic this evening, too. She tackled them as soon as they were through the door. "Grandpa Thomas is moving tonight!" she reminded them after a quick hug of greeting.

"Oh, was that tonight?" House asked.

She shook her dark curls in annoyance. "Daddy! You forgot!"

"He didn't forget," Cuddy assured her. She took Rachel from her husband, freeing him to pick up Abby. "Were you girls good today?"

"Yes," Rachel answered, simultaneously with Marina's more thorough assessment.

"They were good but excited." Marina was gathering her purse. She had her own anticipation from the sidelines, but the coming evening was private for the family, and she prepared to take herself promptly out of the way before the new addition could arrive. "Don't forget, Dr. Cuddy, I have that dentist's appointment at 5:00 on Friday."

"I've already talked to the sitter after I got your message. That's date night anyway; she'll just come early." Cuddy herself, with her appointment in Trenton from 4:00 to 5:00, couldn't possibly make it back in time without cancelling her session with Patterson, which she didn't want to do with so much going on. The temptation had been there, but she had successfully resisted it after a brief struggle. Talking through the week with the psychiatrist would be good for her.

"Thank you. That was the first non emergency slot he had. At least he stays open an extra hour on Fridays." She ran one hand along her cheek adjacent to the offending tooth. Marina had broken off a small part of a tooth the preceding weekend, and while it wasn't hurting, nor infected - House had given it a quick look that morning just to make sure - it needed repair before it turned into a bigger problem. Marina gave a quick kiss to Abby and then Rachel. "Good night, girls. I'll see you in the morning."

"Night, Marina," Rachel called, echoed by Abby.

Once the nanny had left, Rachel squirmed vigorously in Cuddy's arms. She liked being held, but it was harder to be excited that way. "Where's Grandpa Thomas?"

"Soon," Cuddy assured her, setting her down. "He's almost here."

"Yay!" Rachel galloped a quick circle, then ran off to fetch the stuffed Ember.

"When?" Abby asked. Abby was interested in time lately, and House, carrying her, walked over to the clock on the wall, pointing out the minute hand.

"When that gets down to the 6, that's when he'll be here. _Approximately_," he amended quickly.

"What's proxmaty?"

"That means sort of. He might be a little bit before that or a little after, but it will be somewhere close to when the long hand is on the 6."

Abby absorbed this and nodded. "I saw the tooth!" she announced.

House smiled. Abby also had an interest in anatomy, as far as a toddler could. She was increasingly interested in how _anything_ fit together, bodies included. "You looked at Marina's tooth?"

"Uh huh. It's broken. But just a little broken. No canes." They had recently run into a little boy with a broken leg during a morning at the park, and while Rachel was sympathizing and asking if it hurt, Abby had been fascinated by the cast and the crutches, which she had called canes.

House was suddenly more aware of his own leg. "No, no canes. Marina doesn't need crutches or a cast for a broken tooth. You don't walk on your teeth." Abby giggled. "The dentist will just put a little patch in that part that chipped off to fill it in, and it will be all better. You'll have to ask her next Monday to let you see the fixed tooth." He gave his daughter a squeeze, then set her down. "Back in a minute, kid."

Once through the bathroom, he went back into the bedroom and removed his grandfather's watch from the nightstand drawer. Changing the watch over each evening after work had become a habit by now, but he always paused to read the inscription. Tonight, he lingered for a moment, tracing the letters. _This is your time, my son_. My son. He was someone's son, and the fact was a world he was still carefully exploring, alert in the unfamiliar landscape, ready for any lurking dangers in it, mapping it diligently and acquainting himself with it. He buckled the visibly old wristwatch on and put his much more modern version in the drawer. Never yet had the watch been to PPTH. He knew that eventually, work and the team would find out about the old man, but not yet. He wasn't ready yet. They all knew so much about his life anyway. For just a while longer, he wanted this to be his and not the world's, without their questions, without explanations, and without their expectations, letting him get used to it himself. Besides, if . . . well, the old man hadn't left so far. But moving up here, constant exposure, might get wearing. A deep, wounded part of him was still afraid to fully believe.

Moving up here. He had left his home, his friends. He'd lived there since the late 1970s, and he had left it, willingly, to come. House was impressed in spite of that small voice of doubt.

He heard the car pull into the driveway only because he was so focused listening for it. The quiet hum of a perfectly tuned engine, then silence. He pulled back the curtain slightly, peering through the gap between it and the edge of the window, remaining hidden himself for a moment. The BMW was beautiful, not one of the sportier models of them but with classic lines like a well-bred horse. Damn it, even _he_ was thinking in horse analogies these days, much as he resisted the new habit. The old man opened the door and stepped out, and he stood there for a moment, giving a thorough post-trip stretch of his long frame. He was smiling. Unobserved, no one else in sight yet to put on an appearance for, he was still smiling broadly. House memorized the expression and tucked it away for further analysis, and his right hand fingered the watch. Beyond the smile, Thornton looked tired. Well, he'd had, as he'd noted, a long drive.

Rachel went off in the living room, an easily audible alert system. "Grandpa Thomas! He's HERE!" A flurry of whinnies from her horse followed, then Rachel's racing footsteps toward the front door.

House released the curtain and turned away from the window, limping quickly out of the room as he went to meet his father.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Here's the rest of the family evening for you with plenty of moments for the girls. Two more chapters after this, and then we get to a Jensen session, and that chapter is where the plot starts to thicken. Thanks for the reviews.

(H/C)

By the time he limped to the living room, House was the last one out the front door, of course. He absorbed the scene as he watched his family greet the old man. Rachel was the fastest and first there, nearly running into him in her enthusiasm. "Grandpa Thomas! You're here!"

He picked her up for a hug, though his eyes had already absorbed the whole group, including his son in the rear, just leaving the porch, and his smile was evenly distributed to all of them. "Yes, I'm here."

"And you'll live close now?" she verified yet again, as if the answer might have changed.

"Yes. I get my own house tomorrow, but I'll live close now, and I'm sure I'll come by to visit regularly."

House was sure of that, too. Of course, it would also work the other way. Trust the old man to buy a house that had a small back yard with one of those play structures in it, a few tunnels and a slide.

Cuddy had rounded the car by now, holding Abby's hand, and she studied Thomas with concern as he greeted Rachel. "You look tired, Thomas," she said.

"Long day and a long trip. I'm fine." He gave her a hug, strong even though one-armed as he still had Rachel. Then he looked down at his younger granddaughter, who was hanging back just slightly next to her mother's leg. "Hi, Abby."

"Hi, Grandpa Thomas." She looked at him. "I know who you are," she said proudly.

"You sure do." He knelt, accomplishing it easily even with Rachel, to get on eye level with her. "You worked it out. I'll have to remember that; I can't expect to hide things from you." She finally came forward, though without the impetuous vivacity of her sister. He gave her a hug but didn't insist on prolonging it, letting go after a few seconds as she reached up to trace the fresh scar across his temple. "It's still there, but it's getting better. It will take it a while to fade." Abby nodded, leaning in for a closer inspection.

House came up to join the group, and Thomas set Rachel on her feet and stood up, facing his son. "Hello, Greg."

"Hi." House limped right on past him for a slow circle of the BMW. "Nice wheels."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Come on, Thomas. Let's get inside. We should be ready to eat soon. I'm sure you're hungry."

"Pizza!" Rachel suggested.

Abby jumped in even before Cuddy could, correcting her. "No pizza. Turkey. Marina cooked it." The bird had been roasting most of the afternoon.

Thomas was touched at the thought. "Thanksgiving in May?"

"Yes," Cuddy said firmly. "Not quite the full production, but close enough, just needs the final few pieces finished to go with it. I thought the occasion called for it. And we'll eat as a family around the table, not in the living room from a box." She gave him another hug. "Welcome to Princeton."

"I'm glad to be here." He gave another stretch. "It _was_ a long drive, but the ending is definitely worth it." He turned to the back of his car and hit the button to pop the trunk. "Come here, Rachel, and I'll show you something while I'm getting my suitcase. Most of this stuff can just stay in the car; it goes to the house tomorrow, but I need the suitcase, and you might be interested in one other thing." Rachel trotted alongside him to the trunk, with Abby and House, both curious, closely following, too. He extracted the suitcase, setting it down, and then fished a little further among the tight but efficient load, coming up with Ember's bridle. "This is Ember's bridle," he said, offering it to Rachel.

Rachel stared at it in awe. This was a good partial substitute while the actual horse wasn't here yet. She took it tentatively, touching the leather, then the bit. Cuddy concealed a cringe and hoped that the bit had at least been rinsed off since it was in Ember's mouth. Rachel would definitely be washing her hands thoroughly before dinner tonight. "It goes on her head?"

"Right." In fingering it, she wound up with it upside down, and Thomas carefully straightened it out. "The bit is in her mouth; that's the metal part. This piece goes up over her ears on top of her head, and these two straps buckle around her head to help hold it on. Then these are the reins. They go back along her neck to my hands, and I use them to help tell her where to go. Here." He placed her hands on the reins just below the bit, then took the other end himself, giving them a twitch. Rachel's eyes widened as she felt the clear signal transmitted.

"Wow."

"Let me see." Abby crowded in, and Rachel snapped at her.

"No!"

"She can look at it, too," Thomas said.

House gently pulled Rachel back. "You know you're supposed to take turns, Rachel."

Thomas placed Abby's smaller hands and demonstrated the rein action from a distance of a few feet, and unlike her sister, she tried to interpret the motion, not just feel it. "What does it say?"

"That one would tell her to turn to that side. The other side - " he gave another subtle squeeze - "says to go that way. Both of them together like this tell her to stop." Plus leg aids, in fact legs as much as hands, but he didn't want to dump too much on them at one.

Cuddy had been enjoying the moment, always loving watching him with the girls, but he _did_ look tired, and the remainder of dinner was waiting to be finished. "That's neat, Thomas, but we need to get inside."

"Can I look at it?" Rachel asked, reaching over to claim the bridle again.

"You can look at it tonight if you want, but Abby can, too. Be careful not to trip on it. It can get a little long; don't let it drag on the ground. Tomorrow, I'll take it with me. Ember needs it." He handed it to them, the head piece to Rachel and the reins to Abby, and they walked together back up the sidewalk, joined by the leather lines.

House chuckled as he perfectly read Cuddy's expression. "Don't worry, Lisa. They'll wash their hands before we eat."

"I did wipe the bit off after my last ride," Thomas reassured her, but he couldn't resist adding a moment later, "but a few germs are good for them."

Cuddy sighed as she started for the house herself, leaving father and son to come in behind her.

The turkey dinner turned out quite well, even capturing Belle's attention away from the bridle. She had given it a thorough sniff test, fascinated, as soon as it came in and had glared at Thomas when he told her firmly not to chase it. His eyes kept heading back over to check on it to make sure - handling by grandkids was one thing; teeth and claw marks in the leather were another. But once the turkey came out of the oven, Belle was firmly diverted. The family ate at the big table, Thomas and House dropping tidbits for the cat now and then, Rachel trying to but being so much less subtle about it that her mother always caught her in time. Abby watched from the sidelines, taking it all in.

"Are they bad?" she asked her mother finally. "They do it."

Rachel nodded vigorously. "No fair," she protested. "Daddy and Grandpa Thomas get to feed Belle."

Cuddy did her best to explain. "Belle would have gotten a few nibbles afterwards on her plate. She doesn't need to get dropped pieces off the floor. And yes, Abby, they're bad, but I can still make Rachel quit it. They're too old by now for me to stop them from doing it."

"Yep, we're incorrigible," House said with his mouth full. He swallowed and then pinched off another tiny tidbit from his plate and threw it. Belle fielded it neatly in mid air. "And Lisa, that's _not_ eating off the floor. That one never hit the floor."

"What's corr-gable?" Rachel asked.

"That means your mother gives up," House told her. Thomas chuckled.

"I wanna be corr-gable," Rachel said promptly. "Then can I feed Belle?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "All right, you two, enough. Belle, go chase the bridle or something." Belle didn't budge, of course. She knew a loaded table when she smelled one. "We're almost ready for pumpkin pie."

"Yay!" Always distractible, Rachel turned her attention to looking for a pie. "Where?"

"In the kitchen. I'll get it." Cuddy firmly picked up the turkey platter and took it with her, tucking it back in the oven for later dissection into leftovers before she started getting the pie.

"Mama?" Abby asked.

"What is it, Abby?" Cuddy called back from the kitchen.

"Why -" Abby stopped to frame her question more precisely, and Cuddy came back to the edge of the big dining room table, steeling herself. She was familiar with Abby's questions by now. "They don't listen," Abby said finally.

"That's right. They don't listen. Which doesn't mean that _you _two shouldn't listen."

"But you like it," Abby finished. "You like them not to listen. Why?"

House burst out laughing. Thomas smiled at his youngest granddaughter across the table. "Abby, you're really going to be something in a few years."

"Forget in a few years," Cuddy sighed. "She's starting to give us a run for our money now."

"Run?" Rachel asked. "I want to run."

"No, you want to eat pumpkin pie right now," House reminded her.

Cuddy turned back. "Pie coming right up."

"Why?" Abby insisted.

Cuddy gave it her best shot from the kitchen. "Abby, sometimes when you love somebody, you even like it once in a while when they do things wrong. That does _not_ mean it isn't wrong. Just means that it's them, and they remind you of that while they're doing it."

Abby plugged this in, the wheels turning, as saucers clattered from the kitchen counter. "So you like us doing wrong?" she asked.

Thomas took pity on his daughter-in-law finally. House was still too amused at all of this. "She loves you even when you're doing wrong," he said. "She always loves you. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try not to do wrong."

"Should you try?" she asked.

Thomas smiled. "You're right; we should try to do the right things, too. I'm just tired tonight, and I was enjoying winding her up a little bit. I apologize, Lisa. I'll try to do better."

Abby looked over at her father, waiting. "What?" he demanded under the blue microscope.

"You need to pologize."

He gave in just to change the subject. "All right. I apologize, Lisa."

She returned carrying an impressive construct of pie saucers. "Apology accepted. Now, let's have pie." She distributed them, then settled down to cut off a few bites for Rachel. House was helping Abby.

"Ember will get hungry," Rachel said suddenly, staring at her pie.

"Don't worry about Ember, Rachel. Remember, I pay people to take care of her. She gets fed." Thomas looked at his watch. "In fact, she's probably finishing her dinner just about now, too."

Rachel shook her head, impatient that he didn't see it. "No! On the truck. You said she comes on a truck, but it's a long trip. If she's on the truck, she's gonna get hungry."

"Oh, you mean on her way up here?" Rachel nodded. "They'll take care of her, too, Rachel. It's a _special_ truck. The people on it are used to moving horses around; they do it all the time, all over the country. Even longer trips than this one. They feed them and take care of them and make sure they get enough water. You don't have to worry about Ember. They even drive gently to make sure the horses have a smooth trip. They brag on how much they are _not_ in a hurry."

"But they don't know her," Rachel worried.

"No, they don't know her. But the company hires people who are used to dealing with horses a lot. They'll know how to handle her and what she needs. She'll be fine; you'll see. And she'll have plenty to eat on the trip; she'll probably be munching hay most of the way. But she's not on the truck yet. This is only Monday, so she's still back in the old barn. They'll probably pick her up Thursday morning, and she'll probably get here sometime Saturday."

House was absorbing the details, even while trying to look bored. He could never resist soaking up new information. "I'll bet postage to mail a horse is pretty steep," he commented.

Thomas flinched. "Let's just say I'm glad I don't have to do this regularly. We're not planning to move again. This will be home for both of us." He smiled at his son, one of those open smiles that House had such a hard time knowing how to react to. "I'm delighted to be here, and I'm sure Ember will be, too."

House looked away, staring down at his saucer and then taking his last bite of pumpkin pie.

Rachel, meanwhile, was counting days. "Ember comes Saturday?"

"Yes. Hopefully. Unless their schedule changes."

"Proxmately," Abby suggested, plugging in her new word from earlier in the evening.

Thomas looked impressed. "Right, Abby. She'll be here approximately Saturday. The men with the truck will call me when she's almost here so I'll know to go meet her."

"Can I see her come?" Rachel asked.

He looked at her parents. "We'll see," Cuddy temporized. "That might not be the best day, Rachel. The horse will be all excited. Give her a few days to settle into her new home."

"I wanna see her Saturday," Rachel insisted. "Grandpa Thomas will see her Saturday."

Cuddy sighed again. She knew Rachel would wind up meeting the horse, no doubt visiting regularly, but she wasn't sure the first day straight off the truck was the best time for it when the horse would have been cooped up for a few days. Thomas had made it clear to Rachel that this horse was even bigger than most of them. Cuddy was trying to keep from worrying, but she had a mental image of Rachel somehow escaping her hand, frisking up to an impossibly tall horse on one of her mad dashes, and winding up squashed under a hoof.

House followed the thought, and all the teasing element was out of his eyes as he watched both his daughter, pure eagerness, and his wife, worrying about safety. "Maybe we could all go," he suggested, "and we could stay back a little and just watch with me and your mother holding you girls. You'd see her, but she would get a little time to settle down, too, before we went up closer. Would that work?" He looked from Cuddy to Thomas.

Cuddy relaxed a little and looked at Thomas. "I just don't want her hurt," she said softly.

Thomas nodded. "I understand," he replied. "Ember _will_ be all excited on Saturday, but if you two held onto the girls, they couldn't get into much. I'll be dealing with the horse. I'm not sure how far we can put her off." He looked over at his granddaughters and spoke up. "It's up to your parents, Rachel, but _if _we all go to the stable Saturday to meet her, you'll have to remember what I said. Remember what I told you about horses?"

Rachel nodded. "They're scaredy cats."

"Right. They look big and tough, but they aren't. They're easy to scare. So you can't yell, and you can't run fast up to them. You'll have to listen to us. Okay?"

She looked uncharacteristically responsible for once. "Okay. I don't wanna scare Ember." She looked over at her mother. "Can we go Saturday, Mama?"

"We'll see," Cuddy repeated.

"Mama!" Rachel gave her best effort at puppy eyes. "Pretty please?"

Cuddy smiled at her. "I'll think about it, okay?" She looked around the table. "Everybody done?" A few minutes later, she was protesting that Thomas didn't have to help her clear the table, while House and the girls went back into the living room and Belle returned to sniffing the bridle.

Much later, after the girls had finally wound down enough to get to sleep, the three adults sat around the living room, Thomas in the recliner, House and Cuddy on the couch. "It's a very good stable," Thomas assured Cuddy. "They're used to dealing with kids, and they have several ponies there, too." He paused. "I'm trying not to push here, but when she is ready to start lessons, I'd be glad to pay for it."

Cuddy sighed. "I know she wants this, and I know I can't bubble wrap her, but part of me just can't help worrying. The only horse I ever got close to as a child stomped on my sister's foot."

"And that made you not like them?" House asked. "Seems like it would add brownie points to me."

She laughed. "It _was_ funny right then, watching her hopping around. But it really bruised her foot up for days, too."

"Any good barn is aware of safety," Thomas assured her. "They do everything they can to make it a good experience. NO!" He popped straight up out of the recliner and retrieved his bridle, and Belle gave him a wounded look. "Back in a minute. Let me tuck this in my suitcase."

Cuddy cringed anew as he headed into the guest room. "In his _suitcase_?" With his clothes?

"Lisa, he doesn't _care_." House pulled her closer, his reassuring hug at odds with his sarcastic words. "Are you afraid Rachel will get hurt someday if she gets into horses or afraid of all the germs? Visions of bridles in your house?"

She settled into his strong arms. "A little of both," she admitted, trying to make it a joke as he was, though the image of those huge hooves was much stronger to her than the thought of dirty bits. "I know we can't protect them from everything," she said.

House gave her a quick kiss. "Talk to Patterson," he said softly, right in her ear, as Thomas exited the guest room, and she nodded briefly.

Thomas sat back down and leaned into the back of the recliner, tiredness settling around him like a cloak. His shoulders sagged. "It is good to get here," he said. "I was counting down the miles all afternoon."

"We're glad to have you." Cuddy spoke for both of them, but she knew it applied to her husband, too, even if he wouldn't say it yet. "You do look worn out, though. You need to get to bed before long."

He stretched his legs out. "I am beat. Maybe a shower first, then I probably will turn in early. It will take a little while for us all to adjust and work out the new system, but if I'm too much in the way, let me know."

"You're _not_ going to be in the way," Cuddy fired back hotly. "Even when you have your own place after tomorrow, you're always welcome here, Thomas."

He smiled at her. "I'm glad to hear it, but I won't be living here. You all need some privacy as a family, too." He was watching his son.

House shifted. Consideration, something else that could still catch him off guard from anything resembling a father. "No point in buying yourself a house if you don't live there. Just remember, if you don't show up pretty regularly, _she_ would have to send out a search party."

Thomas wound through the subliminal layers of that carefully, coming to the unspoken invitation beneath. He stood. "Well, I hate to cut this evening short, but we have others." _We have others._ What a marvelous new world, his for the exploring with his new family.

Cuddy agreed. "We'll have plenty of others, but right now, you look exhausted. Two nights sleeping here will do you a lot of good before you move in on Wednesday."

Thomas paused in mid stride and shook his head. "One night sleeping here. I'm spending tomorrow night at the house."

"No." Cuddy's tone was definite. "The closing may be tomorrow, but it's _empty_, Thomas. All your furniture doesn't get here until Wednesday morning."

"But the place is mine as of tomorrow, and I have a sleeping bag in the trunk. I want to spend the first official night there."

"A _sleeping bag_?" Cuddy stood up to argue better, not that it brought their eyes anywhere close to level. He was annoyingly tall, a complaint she'd often had mentally against his son during arguments. "That's ridiculous, Thomas. We have a perfectly good guest bed right here, and you don't need to be spending the night in a sleeping bag on the floor. You're _welcome_ here."

House had been watching Thomas' expression intently, and he realized that a different motive was involved. "Whatever you're trying to recapture, old man, it won't be the same."

Cuddy looked back sharply at her husband, then at Thomas with new understanding. "Did you spend the first night in your old house like that with Emily and Tim?"

Thomas was looking stubborn. "I appreciate the invitation, Lisa, but I'm staying there tomorrow night. That's not open for debate."

She studied him. He looked exactly like his son when he was totally locked into something, and she knew how hard it could be to get House's teeth out of an idea he'd taken hold of. It was the first time Thomas had really drawn a line with her, and over such a _ridiculous _point, the whole idea of someone 75 sleeping in a sleeping bag in an empty house with nothing but memories for company, but she knew he wasn't going to give in. "At least eat over here with us first," she offered.

He accepted the compromise. "All right. Let me guess, turkey leftovers?"

"Meow!" Belle jumped up onto the couch, knowing the word turkey. House reached over and scratched her ears, and Thomas chuckled and reached out to do the same.

"Good night, Lisa. Good night, Greg. Good night, Belle." He headed toward the guest room, and a minute later, they heard him cross to the bathroom and turn on the shower.

House was still petting the cat. "Sit down and stop worrying, Lisa. One night on the floor in a sleeping bag might give him some stiff points, but it's not like he'll be out in the wilderness surrounded by grizzlies and cougars. It's his choice to make."

She sat down beside him. "The whole idea is crazy. So you think he did that back in the 1970s with the other house?"

"Definitely. It was probably an adventure for them, everybody there without furniture yet, camping out in their new place. He wants to hold some kind of mental tribute. Which I agree is crazy; they're all dead, and he wasn't 75 then. But whether it makes sense or not, he isn't going to change his mind. Might as well accept it." His arm tightened around her shoulders. "Which, of course, you won't be able to do. You'll be worrying all night tomorrow night."

Still rattled, she couldn't resist pushing him just a little. "And _you_ aren't going to worry about him even a little bit over there with just a sleeping bag?"

He came up stiffly to his feet, rapidly changing the subject. "Of course not. Is there any more of that pumpkin pie?" He was halfway to the kitchen by the time he finished the question.

Cuddy, left on the couch, looked at Belle. "They're incorrigible," she repeated, and Belle meowed in reply, then, hearing the refrigerator, scampered off quickly in case there might be supplemental turkey.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This chapter was written with fond memories of my grandfather, whose favorite TV show was . . . well, you'll see. "Dishonest, departed, or dead" was his own summary. I remember watching many reruns with him.

The book _FDR's Deadly Secret_ is one I found recently at Paperbackswap - if you haven't yet discovered paperbackswap dot com and you still enjoy the feel of a physical book in your hands, check it out. Free books! It's an online book exchange based on the theory that what you no longer want, somebody else somewhere probably does. They have every conceivable genre, about 5 million books currently available, and the wishes that aren't currently available come in on an average of about one a week in my experience. I have found things there ranging from current best sellers to classics out of print since the 1930s. The FDR book is quite interesting, a medical biography that tracks his whole life. The author is definitely on a "my pet theory" crusade, but he isn't without evidence for it, and he convinced me that it's a good possibility, even if it can never be proven 100%. I was thinking reading it that House would have enjoyed this book.

Next chapter is Wilson and more of the egglings, and then the chapter after that, things start to happen a little faster. Thanks for the reviews and enjoy chapter 5.

(H/C)

_Going out for lunch. _House hit send on the text to Cuddy and started his car, pulling out of the PPTH lot. Her schedule was quite busy today. A text was much quicker than a conversation and would disrupt her day less, though if he thought about it, he had to admit that he didn't want to face questions as he left. Not that he really wanted to think about it. He was curious, that was all.

She had, of course, been worried about that stubborn old idiot last night with his sleeping bag, and House had even overheard her calling this morning before breakfast, ostensibly to invite him to the meal. Filling in the other side of the conversation while eavesdropping, House concluded that Thornton had given her a brief fine and had told her he needed to stay at his place to wait for the truck in case they were early. At least the call had reassured her the old man was none the worse for wear or at least not much worse for his night on the floor. House would tell her later where he had been for lunch and let her ask questions then, but he didn't want interrogation on his way there.

It was hard to believe that it would be a year next month since her meltdown. She had made a lot of progress in therapy, but he still tried a little harder since to keep her informed where he was. It still amazed him that she had been that worried about _him_, that he mattered that much to her. Disappearing around the hospital was somehow no longer a game, at least not when he thought about her looking for him, though he was perfectly willing to hide from the team. Patterson was good for her, so different from Jensen but seeing things clearly and getting to work from the start on steering Cuddy past just the assassination attempt on the President to the deeper issues House always had sensed in her. He wondered what his reaction would have been if somebody years ago had predicted not only that he would be married and a father but also that he and his wife both would be willingly seeing psychiatrists.

She did seem to be getting more tense on the subject of horses as the actual one approached. He wasn't sure what all was involved there; surely seeing Lyla get stomped and howling about it couldn't have been that traumatic. In fact, he would have paid for a video of the occasion. Obviously there was some physical risk associated, but there was physical risk in riding in cars and even in crossing the street, too. Hopefully, Cuddy would talk to Patterson about it.

Eleven months ago. So much had happened in the last year: Cuddy's meltdown, Patrick's trial, his mother's death, the explosion at the track.

The old man. If the last year was a musical work, he would be the recurring theme. House was glad to see the street up ahead, and he turned on his blinker. Enough of introspection; he was ready for some observation. So much data could be gathered from a person's house and what was in it. He'd never seen the former house in St. Louis, and while he'd tagged along house shopping several weeks ago, this one had been an empty shell. Up until today.

The big moving truck was still there in the driveway, but they had to be almost done unloading, assuming they had been on time and based on capacity of the new house. It would explode if much more time was spent filling it. He parked out by the street and deliberately walked across the front yard instead of taking the longer paved way up the driveway to the sidewalk. The house was compact, two bedrooms with attached garage. It looked pleasantly impersonal, a little landscaping but not much, though there was a new rosebush planted by the front steps since his last drive-by Friday night on the way back from Jensen. The two features the old man had seemed most taken with in choosing it were a large living room and a fenced back yard that contained that slide and climbing tunnel. He had mentioned wishing for a fireplace but had compromised on that because he liked the rest of the place, and it was only two miles away from the House house.

The front door was open, and vigorous activity could be heard within. House walked straight on in without knocking or announcing himself but then came to a stop two steps into the living room and gave a quick look around. The old man wasn't visible at the moment, but he could be heard back down the hall. "Right there is fine." Footsteps approached, and House couldn't help noting how strong and vigorous they were, attached to young, whole legs. Two movers appeared, noticing him but not saying anything, just dodging around him to go back out to the truck. Finally, Thomas himself came down the hall after a moment's delay; House could easily picture him studying the newly placed item critically.

Thomas' face lit up when he saw him. "Greg! Good to see you. Come on in." He waved a hand. "Welcome to my mess; I think it's going to take me a week to dig through everything and get it put up."

Surveying the living room more closely, House had to agree with him. The place looked like a warehouse. Empty bookcases lined much of the living room with an entertainment center breaking the row at one point, and boxes were everywhere. Over against the shared wall with the kitchen was the piano, and House limped to it, carefully threading his way through the cardboard maze. He looked it over carefully - no new scratches, either from its journey to St. Louis from Blythe's house or its longer trip to Jersey - and then opened the keyboard and struck a test note. He flinched.

"I'll get it tuned," Thomas said quickly. "The trip knocked it off."

"I _know_ that." House closed the keyboard and turned to face him. "Make sure you get a tuner who knows what he's doing. Here." He fished through his cell phone address book, finding his own piano tuner, then held it out. "That one isn't too bad." Thomas carefully copied the number over into his own phone, looking like he was trying not to laugh for some reason. Before he put his phone away, House double checked texts just in case he had missed hearing Cuddy's reply to his. No reply. Good; she had accepted it as a routine lunch out and wasn't going to question him.

The two movers reappeared, one of them with a nightstand and the other with a large picture that was carefully wrapped in blankets. "This is it, Mr. Thornton."

"The nightstand goes on the right side of the bed in the main bedroom. Just lean the picture against some boxes for now." The picture was put down, and House walked over to remove its blanket shroud and check it out. It was a landscape, a painting of mountains, sharp and jagged against the sky, with a rippling stream flowing down from them. The signature was in the lower right corner, TT, the letters small but distinct, like those on the color portrait of Blythe. _He _had painted this. Judging from the frame, it was several decades old.

Thomas reemerged from the back of the house with the now empty-handed mover. The one who had had the painting was writing out an invoice on his clipboard. Thomas walked over to the picture, looking at it himself, his eyes distant, filling in more than was on the canvas. "Is that a real place?" House asked. Thomas nodded.

"Here you go, Mr. Thornton. We already have your card on file, but could you sign at the bottom that you've received everything?"

Thomas signed it. "Thank you, gentlemen." They nodded to him and left, and he closed the front door.

"Those aren't gentlemen," House protested. "Those are hired muscle. No brain required." The large truck rumbled into life and pulled out of the driveway. "At least no more brain than is required to drive, and a lot of people seem to do that without much between their ears."

Thomas shrugged. "Courtesy is free, and it might even make them handle things a little more gently."

"So you're courteous with selfish reasons behind it. _Nice_." He looked back at the painting. "In the Rockies?"

"Yes." There was just the hint of reserve there, not a stone wall but a closed door. Whatever this place was to him, the deeper meaning was private.

So of course House had to pick at it. "Did you live near there once? Vacation there? Vacation rings some bells." This painting was about three feet by four with intricate detail. He'd gone to a lot of time and trouble recreating this. "Let me guess: The first trip you and Emily took after you were married?"

Close but not quite. Thomas sighed. "That's where I asked her to marry me. We were on a camping trip in the mountains."

"And why is that a bad memory? I thought you two had a great marriage, match made in heaven."

"It _was_. And the place isn't a bad memory." The past tense came out a little sharply, and House wondered if he was remembering not just the proposal but the fact that she was dead. "Greg, I'd rather not talk about everything that painting means right now."

The simple request caught him off guard. "Right now?" he qualified.

"Someday, I'll tell you. But please, not today."

Reluctantly, he backed off, while hanging a mental note to push again there some other time. He started a slow limping tour of the house, absorbing everything. The furniture back in the main bedroom was old, but at least it didn't look like dated to Victorian days or was trying to break weight records. The sleeping bag was on the bare mattress now, rolled up neatly. The old man had probably spent the night back here. The second bedroom held not only another bedroom set, slightly smaller, but many, many boxes. He opened the top one, curious. A model train. Winding back through the house toward the front, he discovered that even the bathroom had a small bookcase in it, and the kitchen held a few more plus a desk. The table was a simple model, refreshingly different from John's. There was a platter of cookies on the counter, and House grabbed one and shoved it down in two bites.

"You know, old man, the walls aren't expandable."

Thomas gave a rueful grin. "I thought I cut things way down back in St. Louis, but I might have to do some more now that I can eyeball it. It's amazing how your life can sprawl out when you aren't looking."

House grabbed another cookie. "You and your memories do some baking last night?"

"No, that's from the neighbors. Nice couple; I met them yesterday when they came over after the closing."

"You're already meeting the neighbors?" How did people make friends that easily?

"It's not something I had to work at, Greg. They're curious. Anywhere I've been, the people always come over to check the new arrivals out pretty quickly."

The phenomenon sounded totally foreign to him. Any place he'd ever lived before his marriage, it was as if he'd carried a 12-foot-high no-trespassing sign with him, and the few surrounding people curious quickly learned to leave him alone. Granted, he knew his current neighbors and their habits from observation, but Cuddy had known them first; he was just added into an already-existing circle of acquaintance.

Thomas' voice broke back into his thoughts. "You can start unpacking some of the boxes in the living room next to the bookcases if you want, Greg."

House looked at him suspiciously, searching for any side swipe at his disability but unable to find one. "I'm not here to work. This mess is _your_ problem, old man. I already have a job; I'm just on lunch break."

"I'll order us a pizza." Thomas pulled out his cell phone, then added almost as an afterthought, "but those boxes are mostly books and a few of DVDs." His son stumped off gruffly toward the living room as he made the call, and Thomas smiled to himself.

House opened the first box. Books as advertised. The top few were in English, but the next one, though the same genre, was German. He'd decided that it would be better to work out Thomas' complete linguistic list instead of simply asking him or fishing in the dark, to have a sure answer before he stumped him with an unknown, and the contents of his bookshelves were a golden opportunity. Still, he couldn't help pausing at the titles as he worked and even sampling a page or two. The old man obviously liked true adventure stories; every book in this first box was on topics such as sledging across Antarctica or climbing Everest or sailing around the world.

He hadn't heard his father approach, and the quiet voice at his elbow startled him. "I've always loved adventure stories. They have to be true, though. Fiction doesn't quite have the same impact as fact. There are some incredible stories out there that if they were fiction, you'd criticize them as unrealistic."

House snorted. "Haven't you had enough adventure in life?"

"I like people watching. That's what the good stories are about; it's the _people_. Doing something like climbing a high mountain or losing most of their food down a crevasse in the ice in Antarctica and having to get back to safety strips the layers away. The battle distills them down to what they're really like. Dad loved those stories, too."

"Were these his?" House asked.

"Some of the same titles but not his actual copies." Thomas opened the next box as House neared the bottom of the current one. "This box is history. Start another bookcase; I'll need a whole bookcase for history." They moved over one case. "Same thing with history, at least well-written history. It's about the _people_. Fascinating to study them, who they are, what made them tick. You'd really like this one, Greg. It's written by a doctor." House took the book he offered. _FDR's Deadly Secret_. He opened it and skimmed a few pages. "That's sort of a medical detective story. I got it because of the history, but you'd like it for the medicine. He's chasing down a diagnosis and trying to prove it. It's an interesting case."

An interesting case. House's ever-multitasking mind went to the egglings. If real life wasn't going to cooperate and give them something to sink their teeth into, maybe history would. His own knowledge of FDR had been mostly centered on the man's polio and on his heroic efforts to conceal the fact he was a cripple from the public. "Does the author know what he's talking about?" Nothing was more annoying than a supposedly nonfiction book written by an outsider who hadn't been any nearer the relevant subjects than Wikipedia.

"He seems to know his medicine; you could judge that better than I could. He is absolutely sure he's right, so it's a little dogmatic at times, but he does present evidence for it and constructs a clear, logical case."

"Hmm." House set that one aside on a lower shelf than the one they were currently filling. They worked on, Thomas extracting the books from the box and handing them one at a time to his son, usually with a comment attached. He really had read all of these. A feeling of unreality gripped House. It seemed so _foreign_ to be working on a task alongside his father. The followup question came in Jensen's voice in his mind. _But is foreign bad or simply unfamiliar?_

The next box was DVDs, and Thomas moved down to the entertainment center. House followed him as they started to unload that one. The old man's tastes seemed to run the full gamut from old classics to recent releases. He liked Hitchcock, Westerns, sci fi, and even some of Cuddy's chick flicks. There were a few foreign films, French and German so far. The next DVD out of the box brought a protest from House. _Bonanza: The Complete First Season_.

"Bonanza? You like _that_?"

Thomas pulled out yet another Bonanza multipack from the box. "I have all of them that are released on DVD, and I'm eagerly watching for more."

"Seriously?"

"What's wrong with Bonanza, Greg? Nice blend of action episodes with an occasional humor episode to spice it up and always plenty of horses. What more could you want?"

House shook his head. "But it's so _fake_."

They were facing each other now, the work paused. "How is that one especially fake? Anything made for TV or the movies is fake to some extent."

TV had been tightly restricted in the John House household, but he had watched several episodes later. Blythe had quite enjoyed Bonanza reruns once the rules on evening TV were relaxed after he had left for college, and she had praised the series in a letter to him. So of course, he had to watch some after that to pick it apart, and he had immediately realized why his mother had liked it. "They never had any problems," he stated.

"Never had any _problems_? They were constantly dealing with bushwhackers, gunfights, rustlers, problems in the town. And racism - Bonanza was one of the first TV shows to actually address the subject of racism. They also had the most unbelievably bad luck in love. That family seemed cursed. Every woman any of the four of them ever got interested in wound up dishonest, departed, or dead by the end of the episode. That doesn't sound like lack of problems to me."

"I know about all that, but . . ." House trailed off, and Thomas put it together, his eyes abruptly sad.

"But they were a family; is that it? Even when they argued, when the chips were down, they always were there for each other. That's not fake, Greg. I've known it. You know it now."

To House's relief the doorbell rang at that moment, and Thomas went over to pay for the pizza. After the deliveryman left, he turned back to his son. "Do you want to eat in the kitchen or here?"

House rolled his eyes, secretly grateful that the old man didn't want to follow up on the subject of fake family harmony. "I'm not Lisa. Get your eyesight checked."

Thomas gave a good-natured shrug. "Let's dig down to the couch, then." They threaded their way to it, and Thomas set the box between them, then went back into the kitchen, returning with drinks and the remainder of the platter of cookies and placing them on a handy nearby box. "Is Lisa always that edgy on the subject of horses? It seems stronger lately."

House took a big bite of his first slice. "It is stronger lately. She knows how much Rachel likes them, though. I don't think she'll stand in the way, just worry from the sidelines."

"It might just take time for her to get comfortable with the idea." Thomas munched for a few moments. "This barn is really well recommended. The trainer doesn't start kids on formal lessons until they're at least four. They have to have some attention span and bodily control established to really benefit. So that's about another seven months with Rachel, although she's welcome to visit in the meantime as long as she's directly supervised. Hopefully by that time, Lisa will have settled down some."

"Don't forget, you got the kid into this. You're paying."

"I'd be glad to pay for lessons. Even a pony when the time comes."

House was suddenly struck by a vision of his older daughter, a year or two from now, getting her very own first pony, her excitement, the joy filling every inch of her, a moment she would spend a lifetime looking back on, and he mentally watched her thanking Grandpa Thomas for that. "We can buy our own pony," he said a little sharply. "You pay for the lessons, old man, but the pony comes from us."

Thomas didn't object; he actually looked understanding. "Of course. Abby is really starting to ask more pointed questions. She's changed just in the few months I've known her. Is she like that in public?"

House grinned. "Not any more, not since the night of the grocery store when Lisa told her to save up questions about people and ask us later at home. Have you heard about the night of the grocery store?" Thomas shook his head, and House launched into the tale.

The meal was over almost before he realized it. Odd, the two of them sitting here, separated only by a pizza box, talking. Not mocking, not belittling, just talking. He looked at his watch - the daytime watch - and saw the glimmer of recognition in his father's eyes as he absorbed that piece of data. Thomas knew he had been wearing the other one the last two evenings. He didn't make fun of his son for switching them, though. "I need to get back to work - _real_ work. The egglings will be back from lunch by now."

Thomas couldn't resist that one. "Egglings? Who are the egglings?"

"Egglings are little eggs, unhatched," House said, as if it were obvious. He stuffed down the last cookie and stood up. "Not bad cookies. Stay on good terms with this neighbor." He limped to the door without farewell and was gone. Thomas sat there on the couch in his room full of boxes, finishing the last slice of pizza and smiling. It suddenly felt more like home here.

Two minutes later, the door opened without a knock, and his son silently limped across the room, grabbed the FDR book out of the bookcase, and took it with him as he left again.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the delay. From Friday through Monday, I had four straight days of separate unexpected car issues, only one of those involving my own car, but for the other days, I was the rescue transportation called who had to drop things and go retrieve friend/relative from the dead vehicle and help stabilize the situation. Needless to say, that chopped up my weekend royally, and work and Mom got the leftover time packed around the edges. Never had a chance for writing until today.

Hope you enjoy this quick, short update. Next is another shorter chapter with Wilson, which I'll try to get up tomorrow, and then after that will be the Friday session with Jensen, when things really start to happen.

(H/C)

House sighed as he tossed the printed consult request email onto the pile in the middle of the table in the conference room. Even the consult requests were boring this Thursday morning, nothing that needed attention in person. He had gone through the emails and letters with the egglings, and they had come up after some discussion with correct answers each time, but they were _easy_ answers. He wished again for a case that challenged them. Seeing how they reacted to a crashing patient, how they adjusted as new information came in, how they sharpened other team members and sparked his own insights on a differential simply couldn't be recreated on simple consult requests that any decent doctor should have been able to solve. He needed a live test to really start to sort them out. Instead, he was stuck with an academic exercise.

Well, if that was all he had at the moment, it could still be useful in revealing how they worked, even if less so than a hands-on case. He had spent private moments yesterday afternoon and last night speed reading the FDR book, then doing some research on the internet, both double checking facts and double checking credentials. He stood now and approached the whiteboard. "A 63-year-old man loses consciousness and dies a couple of hours later. What could have killed him?"

Hollingwood was first out of the gate. "What symptoms was he having?" A by-the-book, unimaginative question, but a useful and relevant one.

"He complained of a strong headache," House replied.

"Immediately before he collapsed?" Ramirez clarified. "Sudden onset?"

"Apparently," House told her. "Since he lost consciousness, nobody got much chance to question him on specifics. It got sharply worse enough for him to mention it then, even if it had been present earlier."

"Cerebral hemorrhage would be the top candidate," Ramirez said. The other two grudgingly nodded, as did Taub and Foreman, who were on the sidelines. They had been told not to jump into any differentials whether real or academic today until the egglings had had a chance to wrestle the case themselves for a while.

Templeton was trying so hard to come up with a different, original thought rather than following the other two that House almost felt sorry for his brain cells under the visible strain. "Was he being treated for any chronic conditions at the time?"

"Oh, according to his doctor, he was in terrific health. Absolutely glowing reports, couldn't have been doing better, and his death was a total 'bolt from the blue.'"

Hollingwood was still trying to follow the manual. "What did the autopsy reveal?"

"There wasn't an autopsy done."

For all Templeton's painful effort, it was Ramirez who struck bonus points first. "Is this a real patient or hypothetical?"

"Does it matter?" House shot back, but his eyes had brightened.

"Yes. What you just said, the statements from his doctor. If those were actual statements made in pretty much those words himself about a real patient, it's a case of overkill. He's trying too hard to make his point instead of just saying 'previous good health.' It almost sounds like a press release."

House gave her an approving nod. "Assume that it's an actual patient and that his attending physician did use words like those, over and over, with emphasis. Why would he go to such trouble to make it sound like there hadn't been any prior problems?"

"CYA," Templeton responded immediately. "The PCP thought he could have screwed up and wanted to save his own reputation."

House wrote across the top of the whiteboard, speaking at the same time. "Everybody lies. Remember that. Not only do almost all of the patients we see lie, but sometimes, the doctors who have treated them previously also lie." Under the heading of Everybody Lies, he wrote CYA. "Why else would a doctor lie?"

Giving the doctor the benefit of the doubt, Hollingwood stated, "He might not have deliberately lied from the start. He might have just missed signs."

House added Unintentional Mistakes underneath CYA. "Could be. Patient is still dead, though."

"Or it could be misinformation," Hollingwood added. "The patient himself lied to the doctor."

"Why?" House asked, adding Patient Lies.

Templeton shrugged. "Maybe the patient didn't think earlier symptoms mattered. Patients can be idiots about their own health and ignore things by telling themselves it's no big deal." He was trying for some brownie points by calling a patient an idiot, something he'd already heard House do a few dozen times just in his week with him, but the reaction wasn't the one he'd hoped for; he was surprised to see House flinch slightly.

House quickly pulled his thoughts back from his mother. "Yes, they are," he said, but the confirmation was more sad than annoyed. He added Patient Doesn't Think It Mattered to the column, then turned back to the table. "Anything else strike you about this now deceased 63-year-old and his case-whitewashing doctor?"

"That's the second time you've mentioned his age," Templeton said. "Is that relevant?"

"Could be."

"Did he smoke? Exercise? Eat indiscreetly? Atherosclerosis is a primary suspect for a hemorrhagic stroke, and while 63 is slightly on the youngish side for that, lifestyle could have an impact."

"The patient smoked two packs a day for decades," House told Hollingwood. "He tried to swim regularly but didn't get any exercise on his feet."

Ramirez straightened up. "_On his feet_," she repeated thoughtfully. "Was that _actually_ a press release from the PCP, not just sounding like one?"

"Maybe." House let her come to it, but he knew she had the ID pegged.

"Was the patient President of the United States?"

"Up until he died," House confirmed.

Hollingwood protested. "If you're talking about Franklin Roosevelt, he certainly had health problems at the end."

"Such as?" House prompted.

"Look at the pictures from his last year. I also seem to remember reading somewhere he had heart problems. Did his doctor actually say he was in terrific health?"

"Yes. Right up to the end, no health problems whatsoever, and the intracranial bleed that most likely killed him couldn't possibly have been predicted."

Templeton rolled his eyes. "Definitely CYA."

"But at whose instigation?" House tapped the words on the whiteboard for emphasis. "We have here a President who is _proven_ to have lied, repeatedly, to America about his health. The lengths he went to to conceal his paralysis were heroic. What's even more unbelievable is that the press cooperated. Do you know there are only three pictures of him in a wheelchair? Out of thousands of shots covering decades, only three. And only one of those was published during his lifetime. If any reporter ever got a shot of him in his chair, the reporter would voluntarily expose his film. If he wouldn't, his fellow reporters would do it for him. No photographs while being carried up stairs or put in and out of his car. His braces were painted black to keep them from showing in photos, and once he was president, he hired somebody from Paramount to work in the press office and dictate circumstances and lighting for photos to make sure he looked his best. Any reporter who took a picture of him without advance warning to let him strike a pose lost all White House press privileges. There are public quotes from him and his doctors stating that he had recovered almost all leg function. If he lied about all that, which there's enough proof on to be certain, who's to say that he didn't lie about other things?"

"Like the current President lied," Ramirez said. They had reviewed a few days ago the chief executive's recent case from last year.

"Right. Not only does everybody lie, but politicians have a whole separate layer of reasons for it. Maintaining public image and getting the vote are paramount. With the current one, his lie turned out to be irrelevant medically in the end, but going into that case, I wasn't asking if this President had lied about anything. _Any _President has lied to the voting public, so of course he lied; goes with being a President. It took him a while to see me as a doctor instead of a vote. My question was _what_ did he lie about and was it relevant? We didn't know relevance until we knew the details."

"So you think FDR might have lied about his health in other ways besides polio?" Hollingwood asked.

"Quite possibly. FDR's doctor _definitely_ lied to the public. But he could have been acting according to his patient's wishes all along. That doctor stated in his memoirs that the health of the chief executive is his own private business, nobody else's. Given that statement and the repeated over-the-top utopian guarantees of health during his patient's life as well as after his death, what do you think the medical accuracy of those memoirs is worth? The official doctor was also hand selected by Woodrow Wilson's doctor, who was a close friend of Roosevelt's, and _that_ doctor set an awfully high bar for lying to the public. That one actually said once that he would not certify Wilson as disabled under any circumstances whatsoever after his stroke. So his protege became FDR's doctor and immediately joined in the already established coverup of his patient's paralysis. What else could the two of them have conspired to lie about? Or just one of them, if you think the doctor lied alone about other health and FDR reserved all of his physical lies for his polio. Never assume that either the patient or the patient's doctor is telling you everything."

"Wait a minute," Templeton said. "There wasn't an autopsy performed?" House shook his head. "On the President of the United States, who died according to his doctor unexpectedly? No autopsy?"

"No autopsy," House confirmed.

"That job does age people incredibly," Ramirez said. "All of them look decades older coming out than they did going in. Given that he and his doctor lied, stress still could have played a big role."

"He was the 10th youngest President ever by age at death," House countered. "And four of the ones who died younger than that were assassinated, which presumably shortened their otherwise-natural lifespan."

"What about medical records?" Templeton asked. "Surely somebody's done an FOI request and not just read the doctor's memoir."

"Most of the medical records have disappeared from Bethesda," House said. Even Foreman raised an eyebrow at that. "Eleanor asked some years later for his records, and at that point, it was discovered that the chart is 95% not there. Nobody has seen it since."

"Are you suggesting he _didn't_ die of a cerebral hemorrhage?" Hollingwood asked.

"We don't know exactly what he died of. There wasn't an autopsy," House reminded her.

Templeton was still trying to come up with a different answer. "If it _was_ a cerebral hemorrhage, and the sudden complaint of headache certainly tends to indicate that, there are other causes besides atherosclerosis. Could have been a ruptured aneurysm. Could have been a spontaneous bleed from a lesion."

"There are rumors that he wasn't hitting on all cylinders mentally at the Yalta conference with Stalin and Churchill," said Ramirez. "That was a few months prior to his death."

"You like history," House noted. She had been first to get the patient's ID, too. "Why?" he asked, remembering Thomas saying he appreciated the inner glimpse at how people ticked.

"Why do my motives for liking history matter?" she asked.

"Because you're being asked by your prospective future employer," House persisted.

She hesitated, weighing if he really would apply that to his decision, but she was afraid to test him too far. "I like studying how things went wrong in world events."

"Trying to pick out past mistakes so as not to repeat them," House suggested. "Project much?" She sat silently, looking at him with her shielded eyes, and abruptly, unexpectedly, he felt sorry for her. At least at this moment. He changed the subject, looking at his watch. "It's almost lunch time. This afternoon, unless we get an interesting case, each of you can try to find health problems that FDR might or might not have had. If you quote other sources, which is about all we have here, I expect a statement along with your results of how _that_ person or source might have lied - or simply been mistaken," he added, with a nod to Hollingwood, "and why. Just because you see it on the internet or even on paper doesn't mean it's fact. Keep your minds engaged while reading."

The egglings stood and exited, followed by Foreman and Taub. House capped his marker while mentally comparing motives with history for Thomas and Ramirez. The old man simply seemed to enjoy people watching even across decades. Ramirez never did anything without undertones. He wondered what Hadley herself would have made of today's differential.

Wrenching himself out of thoughts of the past, he headed off to collect Wilson for lunch.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Short scene. I really had intended this and the last chapter to be one chapter, but that was all I had time to write yesterday. Next up is Jensen. Thanks for the reviews. The FDR book is quite thought-provoking, and while he does have his pet theory, he isn't pulling things out of thin air, and his presentation of his case is extensively footnoted and documented. The book is chock full of direct quotes from contemporary sources with immediate access about how FDR was actually doing as it tracks him through the years, and there is in-depth analysis of the few medical records available. Yes, it's true that almost all of his health records are missing from his official hospital, Bethesda, and the Navy has never been able to explain what happened to them. It's an interesting book. I also had fun imagining what today's less-cooperative press might have made of some of FDR's firm rules for how he appeared in pictures and his equally firm rules for how they were allowed to quote him.

(H/C)

House entered Wilson's office without knocking. "Lunch time!"

The oncologist was at his desk writing up notes from his morning's appointments. "Hang on a minute. Let me finish this chart."

House obligingly flopped down onto the couch, but he couldn't stay silent for more than a few seconds before interrupting his friend's task. "What killed Franklin Roosevelt?"

Wilson sighed. "You still haven't found a good case, have you?"

"No. The entire medical world is _boring _right now. So we're left with history. You didn't answer my question."

"Roosevelt died of a cerebral hemorrhage while he was on vacation." Wilson's lips quirked as he remembered reading once that FDR, who had quite an extramarital track record, had had his long-time mistress also present on that fatal vacation, the mistress he had sworn to Eleanor decades earlier that he would never see again. In the next moment, Wilson looked at his own wedding ring, and his smile widened. It had been three weeks since his marriage, and the novelty of looking at the ring hadn't worn off. This one seemed so much different than the previous rings. His family, Sandra and Daniel.

His hand had stilled in its charting, and House interrupted his thoughts. "Yes, FDR cheated. Practically all of them have cheated. And yes, you are now a card-carrying member of the married and not cheating club. But how do you know that's what killed him?"

Wilson doggedly resumed writing. "Because I read it in the history books, House, and that's enough for me. Even if he died of something else, at this point, it doesn't matter."

House shook his head at this lack of interest. "Wilson, you shouldn't just accept what you read in the history books. They were _wrong_ sometimes."

"But regardless of accuracy, provided you and the teacher read the same history books, they gave you passing grades on the tests. _That's _what really mattered."

"The truth is more important than passing a test."

Wilson shrugged. "Speak for yourself. So is Cuddy convinced by now that everybody survived Tuesday night?" That question was left open-ended, letting House fill in as much or as little as he wished. Wilson was slowly learning that giving House some space on the subject of his father worked a lot better than pushing or advising him, and House was correspondingly sharing more with him, though still with defenses in place. He had told Wilson about the sleeping bag plans on their weekly guys-night-out Tuesday, but he hadn't been around the hospital for lunch yesterday, and Wednesdays were Wilson's tightest day schedule-wise anyway due to his sessions with Jensen. So Wilson hadn't had a chance for an in-depth report yet.

"Yeah." House had tensed up a little, but it was getting better. Wilson could tell that ever so slowly, he was starting to accept the idea of a father, not only in conversation with Wilson but in his own thoughts. The oncologist still marveled at Thornton's patience and persistence. The pen moved across the chart in silence for a minute, and then House went on. "Cuddy had to call him first thing the next morning to check on him, of course." _And you eavesdropped_, Wilson thought. "He was tied up with his truck of stuff yesterday, but he came over last night to eat with us. Little bit stiff, not that he admitted it, but he said he'd slept just fine."

"If he spent all day dealing with moving the furniture in, he might have been stiff from that, too."

"He was paying people, Wilson, not moving it himself."

"I'm sure he did his share. He has to sort it all out still, too, and he isn't as young as he used to be." Wilson finished the chart. "So is Rachel all revved up for the horse on Saturday?"

House sat up, massaging his leg for a moment before standing. "She can't wait. She's even getting Abby excited about it." He looked at his watch. "Sandra isn't joining us today?"

"No, she's tied up. They've got one nurse out in ICU." Cuddy, Wilson knew, had a business lunch today. He pushed back from the desk as House hauled himself to his feet.

"Before we head down there, I need a refill," House said quickly.

Wilson sat back down and unlocked the desk drawer he'd just locked, extracting a prescription pad. Jensen prescribed the sleeping pills and p.r.n. Ativan, but Wilson was still handling the various pain meds. "On which ones?"

"Vicodin and Voltaren."

Wilson started writing. House's Vicodin use was much more regular than it had been in his pre-Cuddy years, and he never exceeded 4000 mg of acetaminophen in a day now. Marriage had been good for him. Of course, he hadn't had supplemental and breakthrough meds prescribed in those days, either. He had higher steps available if needed now without having to hide them in a box on a top shelf. But Voltaren was fairly new in his regimen, a higher-powered anti-inflammatory that he had been prescribed in the hospital after the racetrack explosion, a step up from the former prescription-strength ibuprofen. This was the second refill he'd asked Wilson for on that. The first time, a month after the track, he'd still been healing, but now, eight weeks out, he was 98% back to his baseline. He apparently didn't want to switch back to ibuprofen. "Is the Voltaren helping your leg more in general, not just with the healing from the track?"

House tightened up, and his voice was sharp. "Are you going to give it to me or not? That's not a narcotic, Wilson."

"Settle down. I was just asking. As your prescribing doctor, I'm supposed to keep tabs on how the meds are working." And House really ought to have a pain management specialist doing this and maybe even suggesting better strategies. It was something Wilson had often thought, but suggesting it was a quick route to getting his head bitten off. He wasn't sure of everything that had happened between House and the pain doctor he'd seen back soon after the infarction, but he knew something had. House never referred to the specialty since without sarcasm on high. Wilson knew that Cuddy wanted him to see a pain doctor, ironically because she now thought he needed to be on _more_ treatment, not less. Wilson, too, had changed judgments on that in recent years. There was occasionally some psychosomatic overlay, but he had no doubts now that the vast majority of the pain was physical. He sighed and mentally wished Cuddy luck. "I know you need the meds, House. I was just asking if that was doing better than the ibuprofen did for you." He tore off the two prescriptions and handed them across the desk.

House paused for a moment, his piercing blue eyes studying Wilson as if he were doing a differential on him, and then he took the prescriptions. "It helps some," he said, so softly the words might have been lost if Wilson hadn't been paying attention.

"Good." Wilson stood back up. "Now come on. Let's head for lunch. Maybe you can even enlighten me on what really killed FDR. I won't care, but I'll listen."

House relaxed. "Not in the cafeteria, Wilson. The egglings might overhear us, and I want them to work on it themselves." Together, the two left the office.


	8. Chapter 8

"Good to see you." Even though Jensen said it each week, the line still always gave House a moment's mental pause. The words obviously weren't just a formula, and the warmth in Jensen's eyes backed it up. The psychiatrist really _was _glad to see him.

House entered the large office that was so familiar to him by now: The mismatched chair assortment, not clashing but geared toward patient comfort and choice rather than obsession over appearances. No interior decorator's touch lay anywhere on this office, which set it apart from that of many doctors House knew. The bookcases, just a bit uncomfortably full with volumes that looked _read_, not merely displayed as props. The large, venerable, heavy wooden desk that had belonged to Jensen's grandfather. Its surface today as always was functional, not approaching messy but not anal, either. The guitar hanging on the wall. Not a speck of dust anywhere, but you also weren't afraid of leaving one. A place that, like its occupant, invited confidences and offered safety.

Jensen finished pouring them both coffee and turned with a cup in each hand. House limped the short distance to his usual chair with ottoman and sat down, lifting his leg into place. He normally was already seated by the time Jensen finished getting coffee; today, he had hesitated in the doorway. The psychiatrist noted it and plugged that in. There wasn't reluctance in House's body language, no more than usual, at least. Talking about his feelings and issues would always be an effort for him. But the hesitation today didn't seem to be stalling. Rather, he had been soaking up the familiar atmosphere, appreciating it and finding it reassuring with other areas in his life in the process of changing.

The psychiatrist offered House his cup and then pulled the neighboring chair a little closer, sitting down. "We've had a lot of miles in here," he agreed, boarding his patient's current train of thought.

House nodded automatically. "Over three years' worth now." In the next moment, he startled, looking at the other man. "How did . . ."

"Work it out," Jensen challenged. He sat back and took a sip of the coffee.

"I guess I was looking around more than usual, but you were getting coffee, and you don't have eyes in the back of your head. But that delayed me," he realized. "How do you rule out that I just don't want to talk to you and was thinking about running - _limping_ - for the hills instead?" There was his usual slight twist of tone as he corrected the verb to reflect his disability, sarcasm trying to conceal a pain that went well beyond physical.

Jensen left that mine unexplored. This wasn't the time yet, and they had too much else acute going on right now. He smiled at House. "You actually _do_ want to talk to me. There's not any particular reluctance between us today."

"All right then, Super Shrink, why don't you just provide a summary of the upcoming session up front? Save time for both of us, and I could beat rush hour getting out of the city."

"You know it doesn't work like that, Dr. House. There's plenty I can't fill in, and even if I could, the _journey_ is the point, not the destination."

House stalled for a moment, taking a drink of his own coffee. Jensen waited, letting him pick the opening subject, and House deliberately went for a secondary one. "The new fellowship candidates haven't sorted themselves out yet, but we haven't had a really good case to throw at them, either. By the way, do you know what killed Franklin Roosevelt?"

"Nobody does for certain," Jensen replied, obligingly chasing the rabbit just for a moment, though House knew he couldn't shake him off topic. They would wind up talking about the old man for most of this session; no way out of that. "There wasn't an autopsy performed."

There was a spark of respect in the blue eyes. "You're not just going to throw the history book answer at me?"

"History books can be wrong. I'm interested in history because it's a wonderful window on people's behavior and a challenge to fill in their personalities and thoughts from that. Roosevelt had disability issues - psychologically, not just physically, though he was also a consummate politician, so there was a pragmatic component, too. Politically, it behooved him to appear in public like a victor against the odds instead of still handicapped, especially in that era. But I don't think he ever fully accepted losing use of his legs. His maneuvers there do prove that he was excellent at smokescreens. There's a quote from one of his closest friends that I remember reading in a biography once. Stuck with me because my grandfather liked boats. 'He certainly is a water man. He looks one direction and rows the other with utmost skill.' And that's from a _friend_, a close friend, not a political critic. Given that root personality, and I think it _was_ a root personality, maybe sharpened by his disability but there anyway, I can certainly believe he was hiding other physical facts from the public. His decline in photos across the last year of his life is obvious. I've never had time to really dig into alternative theories, but I wouldn't be a bit surprised if his cause of death involved more than the official story."

House had relaxed into his chair and become more intense at the same time, his mind in full stride. Nobody seeing him like this would ever describe him as disabled, Jensen thought. "Is it still relevant to anything?"

"Definitely could be. Behavior is repeated; understanding more about him might help understand someone else who is raising smokescreens. There is also the political relevance; world leaders before him have hidden health problems, and history has been impacted by it. Who's to say when it will happen again? Seeing what he did might help in seeing the truth with this President or the next one in time to prevent mistakes. Unfortunately, there are only 24 hours in a day. Took me a while to learn that, but it's true. Roosevelt is interesting, and I wish I had more time to explore that and many other subjects, but I simply don't. I have a full-time job plus a family, have to prioritize. But that doesn't mean that I think what happened 60 or 70 or 200 years ago doesn't matter anymore; it just means I haven't got time myself to work on it except very limited recreational reading here and there. If others have the time and interest to ferret out a greater understanding of the past, more power to them."

House gave the psychiatrist a half smile. "Want to apply for a fellowship in diagnostics? You're doing better than the egglings to this point. They don't really think it matters at all yet; they just want the job, so they're trying to impress me."

Jensen raised an eyebrow slightly at the term egglings but didn't follow up, and House knew that the trail of this rabbit chase was about to be cut short. He prepared for the double back to more immediate subjects. Jensen, like Roosevelt, was very talented at appearing to focus on something else while never losing sight of his actual main goal. Sure enough, the psychiatrist called time. "No, thanks. I'm happy with my job. James must have failed your history quiz; you were remembering that when you asked me why it mattered. He probably told you it didn't have any relevance at all that he could see. On the other hand, Thornton likes history, doesn't he?" He thought from watching the other man's expressions that Thornton somehow had started House currently on the subject of FDR in the first place.

House sighed. Jensen was more than merely good at his specialty; that was why House had kept working with him for three years. The other man had ample intelligence and perception but also that odd consideration balancing it, respecting his patients while pushing them, and talking to him about the past was easier than to anybody else House had ever met. Jensen also was willing to let him play a little. Even so, sessions always wound up spending most of their time in the meat of topics, not just in an opening dance around them. House really did want to talk about the old man with him today, as Jensen had guessed, and the reminder about the constraints of time hadn't been lost, either. "I went over to see him at lunch Wednesday. His stuff had just arrived, and we started to unpack books. He has a whole bookcase devoted to history."

Jensen hid his inner smile at that _we_. Emphasize it too much, and House would retreat, but it was good to see him start building "we" moments with his father. "I'm sure he was glad to see you." No doubt testing that had been one of House's motives for stopping by in the middle of a work day when he couldn't have been expected. "So he's getting settled all right?"

House nodded. "He really gave it all up. His old friends, his old place, a lot of his stuff, even though he's still got too much. He'd lived there for _decades_. He left all that to move up here." His tone held shielded, almost fearful wonder.

"He's got family up here now. That's worth giving things up for."

"That's what he said Saturday at one point on the trip when we were checking in. That what he was going to was more than what he was leaving. Still. . ."

House's cell phone rang, Cuddy's ring tone, and he froze. She knew he was in session; in fact, _she_ ought to be tied up in session herself right now. The last time she had called him in the middle of a session had been a year and a half ago to tell him that Patrick had spread the papers around the hospital and that Hadley had killed herself. For just a moment, his fingers were paralyzed, but his mind bolted, potential crises flashing by in a blur like road signs, each barely glimpsed before the next took its place. An acute problem with her. Or their daughters. Or the old man. Was it sudden illness or death? And _who_?

The phone kept ringing, and time lurched back into motion. He reached for his cell, his eyes fleeing to Jensen. The psychiatrist was tense himself, obviously joining House in the flashback to that interrupted session a year and a half ago, but he was there, ready, waiting. Whatever the call contained, House knew Jensen would still be there. Anxiety crashed over him like waves as he hit the button, and his voice was tight. "Lisa? What's wrong?"

"I'm okay. We're okay. Everybody's okay." She sounded utterly wired, and the triple-fire rapid reassurance fell flat. "I didn't mean to remind you of everything."

"What's _wrong_?" he demanded. Even without the memories of a year ago, there was no way this was a casual call.

"The sitter just called. She's got a family emergency, and she's on her way to the hospital instead of to our place, and Marina's supposed to leave in 15 minutes for the dentist, and I'm clear in Trenton, and even if I left now, I'd never make it in time, so I thought maybe Thomas could help us out." That poured out like a waterfall, with her obviously determined to get through it as soon as possible. As fast as she spoke, his mind was faster. He knew well before the end where she was heading, and the knot in his stomach tightened up. His breathing was accelerating.

"You want him to . . ." He paused on the edge of the words, spooking at their largeness.

"He's only two miles away, Greg. If he's home. I haven't called him yet, but if he can't, Marina's going to have to miss her appointment. Nobody else we know this well could cut loose fast enough."

He was silent for a moment, his thoughts racing. Too much, too soon. Eventually, of course, it would have happened, but to date, Thomas had never been alone with them while the others were gone. Slow steps, everybody had told him. It's okay to take slow steps; nobody's pushing you. But they shouldn't have arrived at this step yet. "You trust him?" he asked, though he knew the answer already.

"Yes." No doubts in her voice. She was worried over his own reaction but not about using the old man as a babysitter. She had a point on the timing, and Marina had to get that tooth fixed. It was starting to hurt her. Thomas was the closest babysitter in a pinch that they had, and she'd be home herself by 5:40 or so.

"All right." He heard the words almost at a distance.

She let out a deep breath. "Thank you, Greg. I'll call him now. Please, be careful driving once you leave later." There was the faintest emphasis on the last word, wanting to urge him to stay through the rest of his session and talk things out with Jensen, yet not wanting to get his back up by outright suggesting it. "See you when you get home." She ended the call, and he sat there numb.

Jensen reached out and put a hand on his arm, the warmth of his fingers reaching through the chill of the past. "What is it?"

"Babysitter cancelled with an emergency. Marina has to leave early. Lisa's in Trenton and can't get home in time."

Jensen filled in the rest. "Thornton would never hurt those girls. He loves them. He's perfectly safe as a babysitter."

"I . . ." Part of him _knew_ that Thomas loved them, but the other part was still recoiling at the size of that step. His daughters.

The psychiatrist took over, his voice calm and steady, spelling it out. "He is not John. This isn't going to repeat the past, and you aren't giving him an opportunity for something he wouldn't do in front of you. Think back to two months ago at the racetrack. He tackled you to the floor. He put his _life_ on the line to try to protect you. You said he was absolutely spread eagled over you when you woke up. He has that kind of love for you and for your daughters, too. I'd hate to be anybody who tried to hurt them while he was around."

House thought back to that moment at the track. Just a split second available, but Thomas had seized it, both actions equally swift and decisive, throwing his cane and then jumping on his son. The response had been instinctive. He really could have died; as much blood as he lost and as much trouble as House had had getting the bleeding stopped once he woke up, if House had been unconscious himself for much longer, Thomas would have bled to death.

Jensen's voice broke into his thoughts. "Something else you told me a few sessions ago. Remember his first words when he woke up?" He stopped and waited, trying to pull House back into the conversation, to get him to start thinking again about the present instead of the past. At least House wasn't trying to bolt out back to Princeton this time. "What did he say, Dr. House?"

"He asked if I was all right," House said softly.

"Yes. You were his first concern, even though he had other ones. Remember?"

"He thought he'd gone blind." He'd often thought of that since, what it must have been like waking up in inky blackness if blindness was a lifelong background fear you'd had. He was glad he hadn't strung the old man along just because he could and had reassured him that everything inside that exploded room was dark.

"His concern for you was even stronger than personal fear. Another thing. How often did John ever admit to you that he was afraid of something?"

House scoffed. "Take a guess. That one doesn't even take somebody like you to fill it in." He felt like he was slowly coming back to life.

"Exactly. They are _nothing_ alike. Nothing at all. Did Thornton sound reluctant or ashamed when he said that?"

"No. He just said going blind was an old recurring dream he'd had."

"Have you wondered about that dream since? Why do you think he might dream that?"

Jensen was glad to hear the sarcasm in House's voice. "You shrinks just love dreams, don't you?"

"Guilty. Especially recurring dreams, which are seldom random. Why would he be afraid subconsciously of going blind?"

House paused to think through it. To date, he'd still been stuck on processing the novelty of having his father admit without shame that he was afraid of something. "You'd probably say it means that he's had a lot happen to him suddenly. Everybody around him dying. Except his wife, and she still died, just had the long, drawn-out version instead of the bad news phone call." He wondered how the old man would have been told of his parents' death. Surely that hadn't been delivered via phone call. Most likely a neighbor. He could almost see the scene, the three kids, 15, 13, and 11, standing there facing the messenger, waiting, knowing something was badly wrong, probably already trying to fill in scenarios before the words came to define it. Much like he had done a little while ago when the cell phone rang. Thomas at least was quick enough mentally that he would have been already imagining things, trying to fill in the gap. Even so, House wondered if he had ever conceived something as drastic as losing both of them at one blow. From a happy childhood home to being an orphan all at once.

Jensen nodded. "That's probably it. I'd be interested to know if he ever had that dream before age 11."

House grinned faintly. "I'll ask him sometime for you. Tell him my shrink wants to analyze him long distance. No guarantees he'd tell me, though."

"Oh, he'd tell you. He'd tell you that, at least. He has a very private streak, but it's not based on saving face. He admitted the old fear to you without hesitation once the subject came up; he wouldn't mind a few supplemental details. In fact, I'm sure _he_ has tried to work out the reason for the dream and probably arrived at the same answer."

Private streak. "He has a painting," House said. "Pretty large painting, the best one I've seen by him. Oil, not just colored pencil sketching. It's a mountain scene in the Rockies, and he said that was where he proposed to Emily. But that meant something else to him, something beyond that memory, and he refused to tell me."

Jensen was fascinated himself. The psychiatrist _understood_ insatiable curiosity, even if he also respected privacy. "You saw this Wednesday at his new house?"

"Yes. He had it all wrapped up in blankets for the trip; it obviously _mattered_ to him. So I unwrapped it for a look. There was _something_ there. I asked him why that was a bad memory, and he said it wasn't, but he drew the line after that."

"Probably moving into his new house reminded him of her loss. I'm not saying there's not more there, but whatever more there is was probably amplified by the current move."

"Could be. He also wanted to have some kind of memory vigil Tuesday night." House went on to explain the sleeping bag plans, as well as Cuddy's reaction to them. The session continued, working through the old man's week and somehow, of course, winding up back on House's own feelings, Jensen not hammering at them but not letting him avoid them, either. House hadn't forgotten that Thomas was alone with his girls by now, but talking about his father's move with Jensen helped steady him a little. Nobody would go to _that_ lengths, uprooting life completely, just to get a future opportunity for a "private conversation," as John had called them. Well, he _knew_ Thomas wasn't John. Still, it was a big step.

When they stood at the end, Jensen reached over to give his arm a squeeze again. "You're really making progress," he said. "You can split the present from the past, even when something comes up that recalls the past strongly and wakes up old fears. And you didn't try to get out of the rest of the session to race back."

"Wouldn't do much good if I had," House pointed out. "Lisa will be there a long time before I possibly could. Besides, you probably wouldn't have let me race out."

Jensen shook his head. "If you'd tried it in the spur of the moment, I wouldn't have stopped you, but I would have raced with you." Like that other time, House recalled. He knew that he hadn't been in any shape to drive a year and a half ago. But it warmed him to think that Jensen would have dropped his life again if needed to help his friend, even after as much trouble as House had caused him over the years. The psychiatrist smiled at him now. "It's perfectly understandable that you're tense about this. But I'm proud of the way you're dealing with it." He headed for the office door.

"Not going to tell me to drive carefully?" House asked as Jensen reached for the door knob.

"I'm sure Dr. Cuddy already did," Jensen responded. "It will be all right, Dr. House. _I_ trust Thornton, too. And what's more, you do yourself. Not blindly but because he's earned it. Nothing's going to happen tonight."

House held onto those words as he drove home, hoping, analyzing, reassuring himself, making himself not speed. The prophecy helped steady him.

Unfortunately, it would prove to be wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry for that cliffhanger. Well, no, I'm not. :) I really AM sorry for leaving you mid cliff by the end of this chapter. I'd meant to tag the next scene on plus this one as one chapter, but this session turned out longer typed up than it was in my mind, and work is starting to pick up for the day as I ended this, so I'll go ahead and give you this much. I will update with the next scene ASAP, which at least progresses the cliff so that you can identify the specific cliff in question. This is a multicliff story. Probably will update again either late tonight or definitely tomorrow. I'm working tomorrow, but I expect work to be quite light on the holiday with plenty of personal computing/FreeCell/crafting/reading time mingled in. Stay tuned and thanks for all of the reviews.

(H/C)

"It's wonderful to have him around," Cuddy said. "He does pull something annoying once in a while like the sleeping bag plans Tuesday night, but then he reminds me of Greg, and I can't help but smile. Those two are going to have so much fun really getting to know each other.

"So you think he did that Tuesday night to be annoying?" Patterson asked.

"No, I guess not. Greg said later he wanted to have some kind of tribute to the past, and he's probably right. But I wish Thomas had just _said_ so, instead of digging in his heels and saying that was how things were going to be, period. We could have talked about it, maybe donated a few extra pillows or an air mattress or something, but he wasn't going to discuss it at all. That's the first time he's really drawn a line like that with me. _What?_"

Patterson looked like she was fighting to keep from laughing. "I seem to remember you telling me just last week that you hoped he would realize he had to set some limits soon once he arrived so he wouldn't get run over."

"I meant with Greg, not with me!" Cuddy was exasperated, but Patterson's amusement was contagious - when those intense green eyes started laughing, you couldn't help but join in. Cuddy gave up the struggle and smiled.

"It sounds to me like Thomas is being wise," Patterson said. "There is a massive difference between visiting somebody for a few days and living two miles from them. There do need to be lines drawn and boundaries made when people are in near-constant contact with each other, and sometimes, you won't understand the reasons. Boundaries should still be respected, even then." She waited until she received a grudging nod and then changed the subject. "One other thing struck me while you were talking about everything that's happened this week."

Patterson was cut off by Cuddy's cell phone. Not an individualized ring tone, and she pulled it out to check caller ID with a mix of trepidation and irritation in equal measure. It was the evening babysitter. Cuddy glanced at her watch as she answered, and her stomach was already sinking as she prepared for a scheduling crisis. The sitter should have been on her way to the house by now, if not there, and she most likely wasn't calling to report that. "Hello?"

"Dr. Cuddy." Her voice was so worked up that Cuddy's irritation vanished instantly in concern.

"What's wrong?"

"I just got a call a few minutes ago. My brother was in a car wreck. A friend's driving me to the hospital right now. I'm sorry, but I can't . . . they said it was really bad. I need to be there."

"Of course you do. I understand. It's okay; we'll deal with it. I hope your brother turns out to be all right. Let me know sometime when things have settled down."

"I will." The sitter hung up, and Cuddy sat there thinking, worrying.

Another glance at her watch, but the answer hadn't changed much from 30 seconds ago. "Damn it."

"Who was that?" Patterson asked.

"Our evening sitter. She was supposed to arrive early tonight because Marina has a broken tooth and has a dentist appointment, only now she's got a family emergency. There's no way I can drive clear back home in time for Marina to get there even if I left now. And this is Friday; if that tooth doesn't get fixed tonight, it will be several days. Unless . . ." The idea formed. She pictured Thomas clearly in her mind's eye, fun-loving, responsible, only two miles away. He was the perfect answer, but she knew she needed to talk to her husband first. With one eye on that ticking watch, she hit speed dial #1.

It took him three rings to answer, and the instant she heard his voice, taut near to breaking point, she realized that he must be thinking of that last time she'd interrupted his session. "Lisa? What's wrong?"

"I'm okay. We're okay. Everybody's okay." She rushed to reassure him, feeling guilty now. "I didn't mean to remind you of everything."

"What's _wrong_?"

He didn't sound very reassured, and she took a deep breath and jumped into the deep end, trying to get it all out, both to convince him they really _were_ all right, other than scheduling issues, and to get to her suggestion before he could interrupt. "The sitter just called. She's got a family emergency, and she's on her way to the hospital instead of to our place, and Marina's supposed to leave in 15 minutes for the dentist, and I'm clear in Trenton, and even if I left now, I'd never make it in time, so I thought maybe Thomas could help us out."

Silence for a moment. She could almost _hear_ the tension crackling in him. "You want him to . . ." He couldn't quite say it.

"He's only two miles away, Greg. If he's home. I haven't called him yet, but if he can't, Marina's going to have to miss her appointment. Nobody else we know this well could cut loose fast enough."

"You trust him?" he asked finally. She saved the words, putting them aside on a mental shelf to savor later. Even if he was having trouble trusting Thomas to this extent yet, he did trust _her_ opinion.

"Yes." She gave the answer all the certainty she felt.

"All right."

"Thank you, Greg. I'll call him now. Please, be careful driving once you leave later." She knew better than to push for more. "See you when you get home." She hit end. "Damn. I reminded him of when I called to tell him Dr. Hadley had committed suicide. I didn't even _think_ of that. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Call Thomas first," Patterson reminded her. "Then we can talk more. Michael will make sure he's focused enough to drive before he leaves."

With another glance at her watch, which was still marching on inexorably, Cuddy hit speed dial #2, recently bumped up to that status now that Thomas was going to be around full time.

"Hello, Lisa." The warmth in his voice was something else to be carefully shelved for later. How few people in her life had answered her calls like that.

"Are you at home?" she asked quickly. She knew he was still unpacking; hopefully he wasn't out on a break from it.

"Yes. What's wrong?" He picked up quickly on the tension.

"Our evening babysitter just had an emergency come up, and she's not going to make it tonight. Marina has to leave in ten minutes for a dentist's appointment, and I'm in Trenton."

She heard the jingle of keys. "I'm on my way. You did ask Greg, didn't you?"

"Yes." He was moving while she was talking, going smoothly into action; a door closed. "He agreed that it's okay. But don't take it personally if you happen to get any blunt texts from him in the next hour or so."

"I won't. I can't blame him for being worried, but I'd never hurt the girls."

"You don't have to convince me, Thomas. You had me sold a long time ago." She heard the car door.

"Any special directions about tonight?" His car slid smoothly into life.

"No, nothing in particular. Just enjoy the moment. I'm sure you will. I should be home myself by 5:40 or 5:45, so it won't be too long. Usually the girls eat after I get home, so you won't have to feed them. But don't let Rachel talk you into ordering a pizza. She steps on her shoelaces sometimes when she gets to frisking around, so make sure they stay tied. It's okay if they want to go outside to play since it's a nice day, but be sure to put their sweaters on if it's starting to cool off already. And . . . oh, shut up. Not you, Thomas." That had been directed at Patterson, whose eyes were laughing again at Cuddy's growing list of postscripts tagged on after "just enjoy the moment." "Later on, once Greg gets back from Middletown around 7:00 and after the girls are asleep, we usually go out on our weekly date night. I'm not sure that will happen tonight, though. We'll see."

"I'll hang around until he gets back at least and enjoy the evening with the girls." She heard the pride in his voice at being asked. He was going to be such a good grandpa. "You'd better call Marina and let her know about the change of plans. I'll be there in just a couple of minutes."

"Good idea. She'd probably take your word for it, but I'll tell her. Thanks, Thomas. See you in a little bit." She hit end, then dialed Marina.

The nanny was wound up herself, obviously keeping one of her own eyes riveted on the merciless clock. "Dr. Cuddy! The sitter isn't here yet, and . . ."

"I know, I know. An emergency came up. Thomas is on his way over; he'll be there in a few minutes. I don't think you'll be late."

"Thomas?" Marina repeated. "I'm sure he'll enjoy that."

Rachel was heard running up in the background, picking up on the name. "Grandpa Thomas? I wanna talk to Grandpa Thomas."

"No, Rachel, I'm not talking to him. Dr. House knows?"

"Yes."

"All right. I'll get my things together and be ready to leave soon as he gets here."

"I'll see you Monday, Marina. Good bye." Cuddy hit end and put up her cell, then sighed. "Everything's all set." She was still worried about her husband, though.

Patterson discarded the phone-interrupted line of thought for the moment. She knew that Cuddy would have to work through the impact on House first. "What did Dr. House sound like when you talked to him?"

"Shocked. Like he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop when he answered." She shook her head, annoyed at herself all over again. "Why didn't I think of that last time?"

"What difference would it have made? You had a situation come up where you needed to call him urgently. Would you not have called if you'd remembered the last time? Do you think springing his father as a last-minute babysitter on him without calling him to ask first would be an improvement?"

Cuddy sighed again. "No. He absolutely hates having things sprung on him, let alone something as big as this. I had to call. But I could have reassured him a little faster."

"From what I heard, it sounded to me like you reassured him immediately. You didn't even waste time saying hello. How is this situation your fault?"

"It's _not_ my fault," Cuddy snapped.

"But you still feel guilty about it. You had to call him, and you reassured him immediately. There's nowhere you could have done better in that. I'm filling in from half a conversation here, but it also struck me as a remarkably short conversation, not like you were having to drag him out of the past. I'm sure you _did_ remind him of that other call, but he accepted your reassurance, didn't he?"

"No, he still asked me again what's wrong. That's how he answered and what he said again even after I told him we were all right."

Patterson leaned forward a little. "Hypothetical situation here. Say you did totally knock him into a flashback and he was trapped back on that other phone call, reliving it. You know what he's like when he's locked into the past. Is that what he sounded like?"

Cuddy stopped blaming herself for a moment to remember. "No. But he knew something was wrong."

"Of course he did. You bend over backwards to try to avoid disrupting his sessions, and he knew you should have been here yourself, too. But did he accept your assurances of safety, or did he keep asking who was hurt and what were the details you were hiding?"

"He listened, but he got all worried on Thomas as soon as I mentioned that. I had to throw him on the spot there and demand a decision right away. He _hates_ being backed into a corner emotionally."

"Two points, Dr. Cuddy. First, again, _you_ didn't back him into a corner emotionally. Circumstances did. And _second_, even though I'm sure he _was _tense, he had a logical conversation with you and made that required decision, didn't he?"

A small point of warmth spread, like a candle lit within her, a spark of light in the worry. "He asked me if I trusted Thomas."

Patterson smiled at her. "He definitely trusts you. But it sounds like he was _thinking_. He was processing, doing his best to deal with this. I doubt he went charging straight out of there to try to drive a two-hour trip home in ten minutes flat. Michael wouldn't let him if he _did _try, but it doesn't sound like he tried. You don't have to worry about him driving back like crazy."

Cuddy shuddered. "I thought he was going to kill himself on the roads that last time. I was afraid to call, because I thought I'd distract him more, but I was just waiting for the phone call from an ER somewhere. I didn't know Jensen was driving him back; he had his hands full dealing with Greg and didn't call me. Which is what he should have been doing, but I remember just _waiting_ for news after Greg dropped that call and took off."

"I realize how hard that night must have been for you. But think about what you just said. He dropped that call and took off. Think back to that call then; did he sound anything at all like he did just now?"

Cuddy's head came up as the point registered loud and clear. "No. He was barely responding to me that time, and even his answers didn't make sense and didn't go with my statements. I could _tell_ he wasn't functional. And he literally cut me off and bolted out. I was trying to talk him into staying through the session, and he told me he was coming home ASAP." She smiled. "He didn't sound like that at all just now."

"Exactly. Like I said, it struck me from your side as a short and functional conversation. I'm sure he was reminded of the last time, and no doubt he _is _all tense over Thomas keeping the girls, but he wasn't overpowered by that or by the past. He was thinking, talking to you, making the decision that needed to be made."

"He's making progress," Cuddy confirmed. "He's really making progress."

"You both are. He's all right, Dr. Cuddy. If he's not safe to drive, Michael will handle it, but it sounds like he's doing a very good job of handling it himself so far."

Cuddy let out a deep breath. "Thomas sounded so thrilled to be asked. He's trying to be patient and not push, but I know he'll love the opportunity."

"I'm sure he will, and the girls will have fun with him. Rachel will probably wear the batteries out on her stuffed horse." Cuddy's expression changed almost imperceptibly at the word, and Patterson pounced on it, returning to her interrupted point. "Why does the horse coming bother you?"

"It _doesn't _bother me," Cuddy insisted. Patterson looked dubious. "They aren't the cleanest things around. I'll admit I was thinking of that when Thomas pulled out his bridle from the trunk and was letting the kids play with it. But I know Rachel is hooked on the idea. I don't even think _he_ started that. She was fascinated with the horses last November, when we were watching a parade. Even liked them better than the floats. In fact, Greg mentioned that to Thomas, and that's why Thomas got her that stuffed horse in the first place for Christmas." She smiled, remembering the revelation about a month and a half ago that Thomas had actually been the source of that gift. Abby's handheld music computer, too. Both girls had thanked him, Abby more quietly but with her soft smile that added so much to it, and Rachel much more effusive, of course. _"So you're Santa Claus?" _she had asked.

"Rachel probably does have the horse bug. I think some people are just born that way. My best friend in school had it, and I used to tease her that she had a one-track mind."

"That's how you knew how many Breyer model horses there are," Cuddy realized, remembering Patterson's comment in the hospital about starting Rachel on a collection.

Patterson nodded. "It was hard being friends with Jeannie at times, because actually, I was afraid of horses myself." Cuddy raised an eyebrow, having a hard time seeing Patterson afraid of anything. "Yes, I was. Partly for practical reasons. You might have noticed how small I am and how big they are, and it worried me a little. The Breyer models were one thing, and those never bothered me, but seeing a live horse was something else entirely. But I finally realized that even more than legitimate worries about being stepped on or knocked over, it was just an irrational fear. I had to work to get over it."

Cuddy abruptly realized the point being suggested here. "I am _not_ afraid of horses," she declared.

"Are you sure? Because your expressions and body language are reminding me an awful lot of myself."

"They call that projection," Cuddy countered, and Patterson gave her a nod, acknowledging the point good naturedly.

"It might be, but I think there's something more. How much exposure have you had to an actual live horse in the flesh?"

"Just once in childhood. There was a ride at some event, and Lyla insisted on doing it, even though the line was long. But then the horse jumped a little at a loud noise when she was about to get on, and she got her foot stomped."

"Did you ride yourself?"

"No, after Lyla got hurt, we ducked out of the line." The relief was written all over Cuddy's face and voice.

"Did you _want_ to ride yourself?" Cuddy was silent. "In fact, was it Lyla's suggestion that you both go through the line and ride? With your parents watching? She might well have picked up on your tension and have been trying to score on it. Of course, if she suggested it, you wouldn't have wanted to back down in front of your parents. Dr. Cuddy, almost everybody has a couple of irrational fears. It's nothing to be ashamed of. My husband wouldn't hesitate to go into a burning building, but he was bothered by snakes. He said just looking at them made his skin crawl. He'd rather have faced a hundred fires than one snake, even a little garter snake."

"I am _not_ afraid of horses," Cuddy repeated.

Patterson wasn't convinced. She gently, patiently kept chipping away at that subject a little, then finally backed off, leaving Cuddy to think about it, and they went back to talking about Thomas' arrival and the impact on her, not just the rest of the family.

Cuddy was thinking about horses in spite of herself as she left at the end of the session, thinking especially of one picture Thomas had shown them of him with his horse. He was standing at her head, holding the reins, not on her back in that shot, and knowing how tall Thomas was, it was easy to see the height of the mare with them side by side. Not a draft horse like the Clydesdales in the parade Rachel had admired, but quite tall even if lighter. Alive. Powerful. Coming tomorrow.

To distract herself and to settle her last remnant worry about her husband's physical safety, Cuddy called Jensen once she got to the car. He answered promptly. "Hello, Dr. Cuddy."

"Did Greg talk through things with you? Was he okay when he left?"

She heard the sympathetic understanding in his voice. "I can't tell you what happened in sessions. You know that. But I will tell you that I think he'll be home on time tonight."

She relaxed a little, knowing that he meant not early rather than not late. "Thank you. And you're driving home yourself?"

"Yes."

In separate cars. He didn't think he had to stay with House, and Patterson was right, he would have stepped up if he thought it was a question of safety. House _did_ hate being backed into a corner emotionally, but at least he was dealing with it as well as anybody could hope for. "He's come so far," she said. "Thanks to you."

"No, thanks to him. He's done the hard work. I'm just a . . ." He paused, looking for a description.

"Sheepdog?" Cuddy offered. "He's described you as that before. He says you won't let him evade things."

Jensen chuckled. "I like it. Okay, I'm a sheepdog, trying to keep things going the desired direction. That works as long as we don't ever describe him as a sheep."

She laughed. "He's definitely not a sheep. But you're a wonderful sheepdog. Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome. Have a good night, Dr. Cuddy."

"You, too." She ended the call and started the car, heading home, thinking of her newly expanded family.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Again, this is a multicliff story. It has a long way to go.

(H/C)

The front door closed behind Marina, and Thomas turned to face the girls. Rachel was practically vibrating, as happy as if an unexpected ice cream cone had appeared in her day. Abby, though, looked somewhat pulled back into herself. "I just told them a few minutes ago, and she doesn't like surprises," Marina had explained to him softly as she gathered her purse. "Gets that from her father." Having five minutes' notice that the evening sitter would be a substitute who had never done it before had her a little wary, not fearful but reserved, waiting to see how this worked out.

Poignantly, she reminded him of her father, too, and in a way Marina couldn't have shared. Thomas well remembered Greg in his first year, the only year of his life Thomas had shared fully to date. The baby Greg had had the exact same expression when circumstances around him changed suddenly for some reason as he attempted to work it out. Even before he started speaking - and he had started speaking at seven months - the analytical expression had been there. Practically from birth, wheels could be seen turning behind those eyes, years before John had his change of heart. Tim, who looked so much like him, had been much more outgoing and sociable as a baby, taking the world in stride, and Thomas had been fascinated by the apparent difference in personalities even that early behind the similar features.

He smiled at his granddaughters. "So, girls, your mother should be home before too long. Until then, what should we do?" He hoped they wouldn't pick watching a movie, as he wanted something more interactive, milking the moment for all it was worth. But he'd give them the choice.

Rachel looked toward the back door. "Go outside!" she voted, and she ran a quick circle around the living room. Thomas gave a quick glance at her shoelaces, but Marina had them tightly tied. "I wanna run. Can you run?"

"Yes, I can run, but your sister gets a vote, too. What do you want to do, Abby?"

Abby looked toward the window - assessing the weather, he realized. It was a beautiful spring day. "When will Mama come?" she asked.

Thomas walked over to the clock and stretched out a hand to her, inviting her to join him. "See the long hand? When it goes all the way around and gets back to the 8, she should come. Approximately."

She walked up and studied the clock. Rachel's stuffed Ember gave an impatient whinny. "Abby! Let's go outside!" Rachel insisted.

"Already did," Abby corrected. She wasn't ruling out going outside now, Thomas realized, just calling the technical point.

Thomas chuckled. So alive they were and yet so different. His granddaughters. "Marina took you out earlier today?"

"Uh huh. To the park! But let's go again!"

"Not to the park, because your mother will be back too soon, but we can go out in the yard if you both want."

Abby looked from the window to the clock again. "Out in the front," she decided.

"In the front yard? Okay." He knew they were allowed out in both of them; Rachel had been demonstrating her running prowess in the front yard Wednesday night when he and Greg were out there for a minute while Lisa finished cooking. Rachel changed course for the front door, accepting any version of outside offered, and Thomas looked down at his younger granddaughter. "You can see your mother as soon as she comes that way. Right?" She nodded solemnly. Rachel was bouncing at the front door, unable to reach the dead bolt. "Just a minute, Rachel. It's still pretty nice, and I don't think we need sweaters, but let's check your shoes." He bent over to inspect the laces on both Rachel's and Abby's, then reached for the lock. "Okay, girls. But you have to stay away from the road."

"We _know_ that." Rachel sounded so much like her father there that he had to smile again. She ran out into the front yard, and Thomas and Abby followed more slowly.

The day was still quite warm, one of the best they'd had so far. Spring all around them, and the azalea transplanted from Lexington was blooming, perhaps a little shakily from its trip, but its grip on the new location was taking hold, and he knew every year from this point on would only get better. Rachel ran small circles, never getting far from him. "Come and run, Thomas!"

At that moment, his cell phone rang. "Just a minute, girls." He pulled it out, keeping a close eye on them. Equine Transport. He hit the button to answer, hoping that Ember wasn't arriving early. If she was, he'd have to get the stable manager to fill in for him to receive her and sign off on the paperwork, but he really wanted to be there himself, and Rachel would be quite put out at missing the big moment. "Hello."

"Mr. Thornton?"

"Yes."

"This is Jim with Equine Transport. I'm one of the team with Ember's truck, and I'm just giving you an update. We should probably be about 10:00 tomorrow morning getting to Trenton." The stable he'd selected was near both Princeton and Trenton but technically fell into the address of the next city, though it was rural. "I'll call in the morning to confirm it, but unless tonight's pickup or tomorrow's first delivery delays us, that time should be pretty close."

"Great. I'll be there. How's Ember doing?" Rachel perked up at the horse's name and stopped running, coming up to his side and watching him intently instead. Abby, too, was trying to fill in the conversation. She was ready to see the horse herself, a new experience.

"She's fine. Eating like a horse, and she is drinking plenty, too."

"Good." Horses didn't always drink well on a long trip with the changes in water. There were tricks that could be used, such as adding peppermint oil for treat-flavored water, but he was glad it wasn't necessary.

"She is trying to work things out, but she's not upset, just wondering. She's a smart girl, does more thinking than a lot we see, but she's handling the trip well. I'm sure she'll be glad to see you."

"I'll definitely be glad to see her. Thanks for the update."

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Thornton."

He ended the call, and both of his granddaughters closed in. "Is Ember here?" Rachel asked.

"Not yet. They were just telling me that she will be here tomorrow, like we thought. She's doing fine."

"Is she hungry?" Rachel was still a little worried about the horse stuck in a truck with those strangers.

"No, she's not hungry, Rachel. She has plenty of hay, and they stop every couple of hours to give them water. They said she's traveling really well."

Abby chimed in. "Tomorrow morning?" she asked, just double checking.

"Yes. Tomorrow morning. We'll all see her then."

"Yay! Ember!" Rachel launched herself at him for a power hug. He was just in the process of returning his cell phone to his pocket at that moment, and she jostled him enough that it slipped from his grip and made a brief, arching flight, disappearing into the azalea.

"You dropped it," Abby informed him.

Thomas sighed. "Thank you, Abby." He bent over, but the phone wasn't immediately visible. He dropped to all fours for a better look, getting closer and closer to the ground until he finally spotted it hiding. A long arm captured it.

In the next moment, he jumped as Rachel scrambled vigorously onto his conveniently horizontal back. "You look like a horse!" she announced, and Abby laughed. Thomas took a deep breath. His extensively cut and bruised back from the explosion was 98% healed up, but a few of the deepest scars were still sensitive. He didn't even notice it most of the time at this point, but he didn't usually have a 3 1/2-year-old trying to mount him with more enthusiasm than care, either. "Rachel, slide down, okay?"

She was confused but obeyed, descending back to the ground. "You looked like a horse," she repeated, and the tone was half apology, half explanation.

"I know. It's okay." He straightened up to his knees and gave her a reassuring smile. "But you don't go up to a horse suddenly like that and jump at them and surprise them. Remember?"

She nodded, belatedly recalling his course in Horse 101, Toddler's Version. "I'm sorry."

He leaned over and gave her a hug. "It's all right."

"If I ask soft, can you be a horse?"

Thomas was abruptly gripped with another memory of the past, himself riding his father on several occasions when he was about Rachel's age and a little older. Timothy Thornton had made a marvelous horse, smooth enough to be safe but with exciting snorts and gentle prancing thrown in. He could remember himself laughing. Golden moments of childhood. He wished he'd realized back then how precious they were, that his parents might not always be there.

The past and the present converged, and he couldn't resist. "All right. But you don't just jump at me like that. You get on gently and sit still. Here." He stood up and walked over to the porch steps, trailed by his eager audience. "This, girls, is what we call a mounting block. It helps you get on a horse so you don't have to climb so hard to get up there."

"And Ember has one?" Rachel asked.

"I use one all the time with Ember. She's very tall. I can get on her from the ground, but it's easier for me and for her to get on from a mounting block. Now stand on the step, girls." They climbed to the step, and he dropped to all fours again and lined himself up. "Climb on, one at a time, and do it gently. Okay?" Rachel was first up. Much better; she was being careful and steady this time. It bothered the scars slightly, but the discomfort was minimal now, far less than the moment. "Come on, Abby. You can get on, too." She was getting taller but was still quite light. She climbed on in front of her sister, and he judged the combined weight. This was easily doable. "Okay, now I'm a horse. Be careful not to kick me in the shoulders, Abby." His left shoulder also was back to baseline, just occasional weather aches, but he had been deliberately babying it the last few days with the furniture just in case. "Ready, girls?"

"Yay!" Rachel called, but softly. She was trying not to scare her "horse."

Abby, though, had a logistical question. "There's no straps."

"Oh, the bridle?" He thought quickly. "I don't have a bridle, but we can pretend. Take a handful of my hair, Abby. One with each hand. Gently, though. Don't pull." She gripped his hair, but her touch was soft. "Now you can tell me where to go. But you don't have to really pull. Horses can feel you with just a little twitch on the reins. You don't need to yank on them." She gave the softest squeeze on the right side, away from the step, and he turned that direction. Off they went around the yard, Thomas being infinitely careful not to jostle them, but they were trying to sit quietly, too. Abby, he noted, did remember the rein commands correctly from Monday night. He followed her directions, turning and stopping as requested. All three of them were getting into the moment now. He gave a dramatic snort, and Abby as well as Rachel laughed.

Thomas heard the car, but he happened to be at the far end of the front yard at that point, facing away from the road. Trying not to buck off his small riders and also trying not to put a sudden strain on his shoulder, he took several seconds to turn back and look. He wasn't helped much by Abby, who was put out that he was suddenly disobeying her commands as to their route. "No. Bad horse!"

By the time he had finished turning, the car was in the driveway. The couple emerged and stared at him, and Thomas started to get a bad feeling about this night. If his guess was correct from the picture in the living room, this looked like . . .

Rachel noticed the guests for the first time. "Hi, Grandma! Hi, Grandpa. Go, horse!" She gave him a gentle kick in the sides, disappointed that their lovely game seemed to have ended.

The man and woman walked across the grass toward them. "Time to get off, girls," Thomas said.

"Who are _you_?" the woman demanded.

Rachel answered with innocent enthusiasm as she dismounted. "This is Grandpa Thomas! He's Daddy's father."


	11. Chapter 11

(A/N) Short update, but that's all you get on a concert day. The next few weeks are very busy musically. I'll post when I can. Thanks for the reviews.

(H/C)

The Cuddys stared. "His _father_?" the woman said in disbelief.

Abby finished dismounting, and Thomas scrambled to his feet. "I'm Thomas Thornton," he said, holding out a hand.

The man gripped his hand in an iron vise, obviously one of those who tried to uncover any weakness in the opponent's handshake. "Robert Cuddy, and this is my wife, Susan," he replied, but there wasn't any friendliness behind the tone. His whole air was that of a successful businessman who had unexpectedly found a stranger sitting in his office at his desk.

Susan was repeating the name to herself thoughtfully. "Thomas Thornton. Where have I heard that?" The light bulb went on. "On the news a few months ago. _You're_ the reason Greg got involved in that . . ."

Thomas cut her off quickly. "Greg and I were in an accident a couple of months ago, yes." His eyes shifted down for a moment to the toddlers flanking him.

The subtle reminder went home. They didn't want to upset the girls. He hoped even if the other grandparents hadn't known about him yet that they knew how much Blythe's death had frightened Rachel and Abby and could work out that the girls would have received an edited version of the events at the racetrack.

Rachel nodded. "They got hurt. But it's all better!" She looked up at the fresh scar along Thomas' temple. "He had a _big_ cut."

"Is your father better, too?" Susan asked, and there was true concern there behind the annoyance.

"Uh huh. His side was hurt. All better now." Rachel looked up at Thomas. "Grandpa Thomas, let's play horse again!"

"Not right now, Rachel. Why don't we all go inside where we can talk more comfortably?" Thomas suggested, though he didn't think conversation tonight had a chance of being comfortable. He couldn't blame them. In their shoes, he would have been suspicious and hurt by the deception, too. He'd actually suggested about six weeks ago telling Lisa's parents, proposing a round-table meeting somewhere to answer their questions and let them start getting used to the idea, and both Greg and Lisa had insisted that it wasn't the time yet. Recognizing deeper issues than they'd mentioned before, Thomas had backed off.

Robert looked from the BMW in the driveway, which now had their Rolls parked beside it, to Thomas, scrambling to put the man with the vehicle and having trouble with the fit. Thomas was wearing faded jeans and a T shirt that advertised the Kentucky Derby of 2002. Even without the clue as to date, it was apparent that his outfit was many, many years old, and furthermore, he looked like he had been sorting and unpacking boxes all day, which is exactly what he had been doing. "Let's do that," Robert agreed after a moment. He turned toward the front door with a slight stiffness that caught Thomas' attention, not a limp but more stiffness than he'd shown a minute ago walking across the yard to them. Thomas concluded that he had some arthritis in the hips and that watching someone older - they looked to be in their late 60s - playing with his granddaughters in a way he himself would have found difficult had reminded his body of the ache.

"Where are Lisa and Greg?" Susan asked. She picked up Rachel. "Give Grandma a hug, Rachel!" Rachel was happy to oblige, but Abby pulled back a little, watching this whole scene unfold with fascination.

"Lisa should be home before too long. Greg will be back about 7:00. Come on, Abby." Thomas held out his hand to her. She didn't take it, but at least she started walking back toward the house along with the rest of them.

Once they were in the living room, Susan set Rachel down and turned to Abby. "Abby! Goodness, you're growing. Come give Grandma a hug." Abby came forward with an expression of more duty than enthusiasm, but when Susan hung on a little too long, she started squirming. Thomas knew by now that she disliked being held, wanting to get in and out of snuggling at her own moments. Susan probably knew that, too, but tonight, she subconsciously wanted to stake her claim to them.

"Down!" Abby insisted.

Robert had been greeting Rachel, and now he turned to his younger granddaughter. "Aren't you going to give me a hug, too, Abby?"

She gave him a brief hug along with a question. "You don't like him?"

Robert looked at her, startled at the toddler interrogation. "I. . . I don't know him, Abby." He was going to take a lot of convincing, too, but at least he and Susan were trying to edit themselves in front of the girls now.

Thomas stepped in. "They weren't expecting to find me here, Abby. So I surprised them. Most people don't like surprises. You don't like surprises yourself, do you?"

"No," Abby agreed. She seemed to accept that for the moment, but those eyes as always were watching. "Down!"

Robert set her down. "So nobody else is here?" Thomas shook his head. "That's _your_ car?"

Thomas smiled at him, acknowledging the disconnect in image. "Yes." Robert looked back out the window to the driveway, still having trouble with it.

Susan was obviously making a list of items to discuss with him - and with her daughter and son-in-law - in full once they were alone, but for now, she did her best to play along. "So . . . Thomas." She made herself use his name. "You're visiting, too?"

"No," Rachel answered happily before he could. "He lives here!" She zoomed back across the living room to hug Thomas' legs. "Yay!" Robert and Susan exchanged glances.

"I don't live _here_," Thomas corrected. "I have a house a couple of miles away."

"A _new_ house!" Rachel filled in. "With a slide!" With all the love in the world for her, Thomas briefly pictured a trumpet mute or something; Tim had gone through a trumpet phase for a few months the year after his drum phase, both with no talent and thankfully ending in loss of interest, but Thomas and Emily had had a memorably amusing conversation one night after their son was asleep on possible other uses for that item. Rachel was only making this situation worse in her blithe innocence.

"I just moved here," Thomas explained. "This week, actually." He dusted off his jeans legs. "I've been unpacking all day, wasn't even scheduled to babysit, but the night sitter had an emergency come up, and Marina had to leave early. Lisa called me to step in because I was so close." He was trying to make it sound like a matter of convenience alone, but he could tell how much anger and hurt and suspicion remained. "So," he said, "you're here for a visit?"

"We _were_ heading off on a trip for the next week," Robert explained, and Thomas heard the past tense with a sinking of his spirits. "But since we were passing so close to Princeton, we decided to swing by tonight for a brief visit to make sure Greg was okay. We hadn't seen him since the . . . accident a few months ago, and Lisa said he was healing up fine, but she sounded like . . ." He glanced at his granddaughters and edited himself out again.

"We haven't visited since Hanukkah; we were here for several days right before Blythe came for her visit at Christmas. But we _do_ call regularly in the evenings. The girls have always been asleep already when we called lately, though." Susan's look at her husband spoke plainer than words. _I told you there was something she was hiding._

Abby was still standing by the chair, looking from one to the other of them. Rachel, getting bored, ran off to find her horse and came whinnying and clip-clopping back. "See my horse, Grandma?"

"Oh, is that your horse? Your mother had said you got a stuffed horse for Christmas that you loved."

"Uh huh. This is Ember. Grandpa Thomas gave it to me! And he's got a real Ember! She's a red horse. And she's coming, too, and I get to see her."

"Me, too." Abby included herself in the anticipation. "Tomorrow." Susan eyed him again, her nose wrinkling slightly as if she could smell horse on him clear from her position on the couch.

Thomas stifled a groan. "Would anybody like a drink?" He had a few appropriate suggestions himself, but this wasn't the time. Robert had the same thought; he saw it in his eyes. At that moment, Belle walked down the hall into the living room, looked around the group, and bushed up. With an eloquent hiss, she made a U-turn and vanished back down the hall. Rachel and Abby both laughed, and Thomas had to smile. _In a nutshell,_ he thought.

(H/C)

Cuddy had been listening to Timothy Thornton's concert CD on the way home, humming to herself. She was actually driving more leisurely than usual, letting Thomas enjoy his moment and knowing that her husband would still be a while. _A family_, she thought. _We're really getting to be a family._

She turned into her street and slammed the brakes on halfway down it, staring in disbelief. Her parents' Rolls Royce was side by side in the driveway with Thomas' car. A flurry of options ran through her mind, some impractical, some cowardly, but she knew there wasn't any choice right now but to face the music. Releasing the brake, she let the car roll slowly to the side of the street a few houses down from hers. She hit Patterson's number on her cell phone, not that there was time for much here. When the phone was answered, she whispered as if her parents might overhear her clear out here. "Wish me luck."

"Dr. Cuddy? What is it?"

"I just got home. Apparently my parents are here. With Thomas."

A deep sigh. "Good luck," Patterson said sincerely.

"Any other advice in under 30 seconds?" Cuddy asked, wondering how long they had been here, wondering if this evening could get any worse.

"Yes. Be sure to warn your husband so he doesn't walk into it blind himself. Reassure him immediately, but it would be worse not to call." Cuddy sighed. "They'll be hurt. Remember that: They'll be hurt as much as angry, but it's the anger that will show more. Call me later if you need to."

"Thanks." Well, she'd known this would come eventually. But not yet, not out of the blue. What on earth were they doing here? "I'd better call Greg."

He answered on the first ring, his voice taut with all the tension he and Jensen had been trying to settle and more on top. "What's happened?"

"We're all fine," Cuddy said quickly. "Just wanted to warn you. I just got home, and apparently, my parents are here."

"With _him_?" House asked, as if hoping against hope that she could have meant something else.

"Yes. I have no idea what they're doing here."

There was about 30 seconds of mutual silence containing a crystal-clear conversation. "I'll be home in a little over an hour," he stated finally.

Cuddy felt a surge of pure pride in her husband. The dread was obvious in his voice, but he was not running. He would be here tonight when he could, trying to help her cope with it. Thomas would be a help, too. But her parents would be livid, and she stuffed down the guilt that insisted that they had a right to be. "I love you, Greg."

"I love you, too. Bye."

She put away her cell phone and let the car move on, parking on the street in front of their house as the driveway was blocked. She stared at her parents' car again. It was still there. "Damn," she said. Then, slowly, she got out and headed across the front yard to face the music.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Sorry for the delay. The last week and a half has been absolutely insane, with just a few highlights including my horse trying a new and inventive way of attempting suicide, me hurting my bad knee rescuing said horse, a massive and unexpected work upgrade that required total computer replacement and new systems, and all sorts of musical activities and extra rehearsals. Here's a very short update. That's all I had time for. The schedule should lighten up a little bit after today's two concerts. I do have two presents I'm making that have to be finished by Christmas, but still, it shouldn't be as long to my next update. Thanks to those who asked if I was okay, and thanks to everybody reading and still enjoying the ride in this universe. This story still has a long way to go.

(H/C)

Cuddy stopped on the doorstep, her hand short of the knob. _This is _my_ house,_ she reminded herself, but she still felt like a guilty teen trying to sneak into her parents' home past curfew. She opened the front door as softly and gradually as she could.

The first thing she was aware of was that Rachel was talking. Of course, Rachel would be talking, oblivious to the thick atmosphere, full of enthusiasm. With sudden concern for Abby, Cuddy stepped into the living room.

Her parents were on the couch and were watching her, obviously having noticed the surreptitious door opening. Rachel was prattling on happily. "And he has a birdle, too, and it has straps so he tells Ember what to do, and a piece in her mouth, and I got to play with it!" Susan cringed and couldn't resist a look at Rachel's hands to see if any horse residue could be spotted on a quick inspection.

Cuddy walked into the middle of the group. "Mother! Dad! What a surprise. We weren't expecting you."

"We've realized that," Robert commented dryly.

Thomas was in the recliner, trying to look casual and doing a great job of it, but Cuddy knew he was at full mental attention. His eyes met hers with a brief flicker of House's curiosity behind them as she greeted her parents, and she wondered what she had done to insert herself even more under the microscope at the moment. Whatever it was, he filed it for later. She looked quickly for her younger daughter. Abby was standing near the recliner, not actually up against it, but more on Thomas' side of the room than the other. She was watching her other grandparents steadily.

Rachel turned at Cuddy's voice and bounced down from the couch between Robert and Susan. "Mama!" She galloped over for a hug, and Cuddy picked her up.

"Hi, Rachel. Did you have a good day?"

"Uh huh. Grandma and Grandpa are here! And Grandpa Thomas was a horse, but I had to ask soft."

Cuddy set Rachel back down and picked up Abby, who had trotted over for her own greeting. "Hi, Abby."

"Hi." Abby looked from her to Thomas to the parents. "They were 'prised."

"I'm sure they were. We hadn't had time for them to meet Thomas yet." A bald-faced lie, and Robert and Susan were aware of it. Cuddy walked over to the other recliner and made herself sit down, still holding Abby. Her daughter wasn't fighting to get down, content to observe from her mother's arms at the moment. "So, what are you doing in Princeton? I thought you were heading off on a trip for the next week." Her parents, like Blythe, loved traveling in their retirement.

"That was the original plan," Robert said. "We might just stay here for a few days instead, though. We haven't had a good visit in a while." He looked at Rachel, and Cuddy felt a surge of annoyance at him deliberately bringing it up in front of the girls instead of later privately. There was no way for her to casually refuse with the toddler audience, and Robert was well aware of it.

Susan was looking at Thomas. "We stopped by on our way through just to check on Greg, to make sure he was all right after he got hurt."

That much was the truth, and Cuddy flipped back to feeling guilty again. "He's fine, Mother. All healed up. Almost all healed up, at least. I still wouldn't squeeze him too hard when you give him a hug when he comes in."

Rachel picked up her horse from between her grandparents and galloped back over, squeezing the whinny ear. "Ember says hi, Mama!"

"Hi, Ember," Cuddy replied dutifully.

Abby, in her arms, suddenly giggled. "Belle says SSSSSSTTTTTTT!" Rachel cracked up again remembering it, and Cuddy had to smile.

"Yes, your cat always takes a day or two to get used to the idea of visitors whenever we come." Susan looked back at Thomas. "Has Belle gotten used to you yet, Thomas?"

"It took a while," Thomas replied. "They don't like strangers."

Abby nodded wisely and then abruptly spoke up. "Grandpa Thomas 'prised me, too, Grandma. But he's not bad." Thomas was visibly moved by that tribute even more than by Rachel's enthusiastic acceptance.

Susan smiled at her. "We'd like to get to know him, Abby. Especially since we're all going to be family together. That's why we need to stay for a few days and spend time with each other."

"When did Thomas surprise you, Abby?" Robert asked. "How long has he been here?"

Cuddy shot him a firm look, back to being annoyed. Interrogating the kids was not allowed. Fortunately, Rachel interrupted that train of thought. She squeezed the whinny ear again. "Ember's getting hungry," she announced.

Cuddy sighed and looked at her watch. "Tell you what, Rachel. Why don't we just have a little snack now, a few crackers or something, and then we'll order a pizza to be here when Daddy gets home." Date night obviously was cancelled.

"Yay!" Rachel took another gallop circle of the living room.

Susan shook her head. "Lisa, surely you can make healthier choices for your family than that. If you can't be bothered to cook, I'm sure I can come up with something quickly." She stood up and headed for the kitchen.

"Mother!" Cuddy put Abby down and stood up, following her. Susan was looking into the refrigerator critically when Cuddy got there. "You don't need to cook."

Susan closed the refrigerator and turned to face her. The look took Cuddy back decades again, and she once more reminded herself firmly that this was her house. "I don't need to do a lot of things, apparently. Including know about major life events for my daughter and her family."

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this," Cuddy said softly.

"I'm not," Susan responded. "At least I _did_ find out this way. Would you ever have told us at all?"

"Yes, but it's complicated. Look, we'll talk later after the girls are asleep." Which would no doubt be quite an accomplishment tonight; they were wired. "You've got a whole lot of company; hardly anybody knows about this yet. It's a lot of changes for Greg, and he was taking them slowly."

There was the slightest softening in Susan's face. She did love her son-in-law. "We _will_ talk," she insisted. "But we are trying not to upset the girls."

"You need to watch Abby, too. She's getting a lot more persistent with questions these days. Act like nothing is wrong about Thomas when you're around her. The girls don't know anything about John yet, and they don't need to. Thomas is a _good_ addition to the family."

Susan was reserving judgment. "You still should have told us. Meanwhile," she said, turning briskly back to the cabinets, "I'll see about a real meal."

Cuddy sighed again. "Mother," she said, "ordering a pizza is the best way to get Greg to eat anything at all when he gets home, and he doesn't need to get off schedule with his meds. You know he doesn't want to eat when things are tense. I think we really do need a pizza tonight."

That point hadn't occurred to Susan. She hesitated with a cabinet half open. Finally, she picked up a box of crackers and closed the cabinet firmly. "We are going to be staying for a while," she repeated.

"I don't want you to miss your trip," Cuddy objected.

"Finding out what's going on here is more important." Susan marched out of the kitchen. "Here, girls. Grandma has a snack for you right now, and then we'll all eat a pizza together when your father gets back."

"Yay!" Rachel replied.

Cuddy stood in the kitchen, looking at the cabinets, at the orderly counters, at her neat and tidy life. Everything was organized. Except for a few minor details like the fact that she'd been caught concealing a new grandfather from her parents. Resisting the urge to join Belle in hiding, she returned to the living room.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: To help put a smile on your face as we progress through the hectic holiday season, I recommend Googling "6 videos of little girls totally freaking out because they got a horse for Christmas." I saw it at horsenation dot com but am sure it made the rounds of a few sites. I could just picture Rachel in a few years while watching these.

Enjoy this chapter. Sorry they're so short at the moment, but life is busy, and I've been sick the last two days, too. It will at least make the story last longer. Will try for more Monday before I head off on a trip, but if that doesn't work, I should be back by Wednesday and ought to have writing time then. Merry Christmas to my wonderful readers and safe travels to those who are traveling, especially with the winter weather around so much of the country lately.

(H/C)

House stabbed viciously at end on the cell phone. He watched the road unspooling in a dark ribbon before him, and his annoyance with himself increased with every turn of the wheels.

They should have expected this. _He _should have expected this. Her parents hadn't had a visit since mid December, and Susan at least had wanted to come after the explosion to hover over him. They'd had trouble staving her off for the last two months; he _knew_ her patience was limited. Part of him wanted to take the next exit to anywhere, trading this highway for another, but a larger part of him was thinking of Cuddy there right now having to deal with it. He knew that it was his own sensitivity, his own timetable, that had kept her from notifying her parents. Damn it. Even the old man had suggested telling them. Even Jensen had mentioned the eventual introduction a time or two, though always backing off when House shut down on the point. Did he really think they could have kept it a secret indefinitely? Thornton was _here_, permanently, irrevocably here. Eventually, he would have to meet the rest of the family, the team, the hospital. The days of House taking things at his own pace had had an expiration date slapped on the moment he'd agreed to the old man moving up to Princeton.

What were they making of Thornton? The girls would be there, complicating the situation horribly. Rachel would be prattling on cheerfully, and Abby would be watching and confused at the undertones. Hopefully Thomas had at least managed to keep things fairly edited around the girls until Cuddy arrived. They were _not_ going to learn about John yet, and any full-length explanation of Thornton's sudden reappearance and why that was an issue would irrevocably wind up there.

He and Cuddy should have set up a meeting, in private, away from the girls. Instead, his in-laws had inserted themselves into things, as they had done a time or two before. He should have expected this, shouldn't have thrown it onto Cuddy (and the old man, his mind added softly) to deal with them on a surprise visit. He definitely shouldn't have put his girls in the line of conversational fire.

Damn.

He picked up the cell phone again and hit Jensen's number, ready to divert some of this annoyance onto someone else. Jensen made a far better shrink than he did a prophet.

The psychiatrist answered partway through the second ring, and the pure concern in his voice shocked House, momentarily displacing the irritation. "Dr. House? What's wrong?"

House abruptly realized that the psychiatrist knew he couldn't be home yet. Jensen was imagining not some issue in Princeton but a wreck on the highway. House had meant to start out with a snap that something had happened after all, but somehow, he couldn't string the other man along, even briefly. He quickly switched to reassurance. "I'm okay. Haven't had a wreck or anything."

Jensen let out an audible sigh of relief. "What's wrong?" he repeated, but the tone was steadier that time, the concerned friend ready to step aside for the therapist if needed.

"Lisa just called. Apparently, her parents showed up."

Another sigh. "After Thornton was in charge of the kids?"

"Yeah. Don't think she'd even gone in yet for details, but Marina would have called her if it was earlier." Anger flared out again, still looking for any other target besides the one he knew held most of the blame. "_He_ should have called her, too, but it sounded like she just drove into it blind."

House heard footsteps, followed by a closed door before Jensen's reply. "He's probably got his hands full with crisis control. And he's busy looking out for the girls."

"He'd _better_." House's free hand tightened on the wheel. "They just turned up, no notice."

Jensen cut through the blame game to handling the evening. "How far are you from home?" he asked.

House's hand tightened up a little more. "You ought to know. You know how long that drive takes, and you know when I left."

There was an undertone of warm approval underneath the psychiatrist's next words that was reassuring, giving House permission to take notice of his own progress. "You can handle this. You and Dr. Cuddy, and don't forget Thornton. He's good with people. He'll be a good ally to have in your corner."

"The girls are there. Damn it, I should have told her parents weeks ago."

"You weren't the only one hesitating on this, Dr. House. Her relationship with her parents is complicated."

"Just got a lot more complicated."

"Yes. But they do love your family. They'd never do anything to hurt Rachel and Abby. Not intentionally."

He did believe that much. "Unintentionally is something else."

"And that's where Thornton will be at his best helping to manage the situation until the girls are asleep. After that, try to talk to them but let them vent. They'll have to vent some before they're ready for a real conversation. They are going to be hurt about this."

"You said nothing was going to happen tonight." House remembered his earlier grievance.

"I know. I meant nothing related to negligence on Thornton's part, but you're right. I shouldn't have phrased it like that, and I apologize. I thought I was past thinking I was omnipotent, but once in a while, the ghost creeps up while I'm not looking."

House suddenly wished that Jensen _were_ in charge of life. Things would be a lot easier, or at least a lot more straightforward. "Might call you later tonight," he said gruffly. Patterson might be getting an evening call, too.

"I'm here." A simple reply that said everything. Silence for a moment, and then Jensen went on. "You are not solely responsible for this situation, Dr. House. There are too many elements here to assign blame, even if that were productive, which it isn't. This easily could have happened even without your contribution. And realize that Dr. Cuddy is going to be blaming herself full-tilt, too."

"Save it for a session when you're on the clock," House replied, but there was that note of unspoken gratitude in his tone, and Jensen heard it.

"I'll be here tonight if you need me, Dr. House. I'll let you go now so you can focus on driving, but good luck."

_Good luck_, House thought as he drove on toward the coming confrontation. He didn't believe in luck, but if he did, the verdict was in a long time ago what type of luck he had. He should have talked to her weeks ago about her parents and brought them into the loop. He'd been too busy being a coward.

It wasn't until five minutes of that thought that he suddenly realized that he didn't hear the accusation in John's voice in his head. Always, it had been John who called him a coward. Tonight, John was silent. In the smack middle of a new crisis, John was silent, dead like he was supposed to be. With a momentary surge of pride beneath the self-recrimination, House drove on toward Princeton.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Merry Christmas, readers! Your gift is a longer chapter. I'm sorry it wasn't up sooner; FF net apparently took a Christmas holiday of its own with regards to letting people post. Enjoy! The scene after this is one of my favorites in the story.

(H/C)

"And he's a horsey, too!" Rachel hadn't run down yet explaining all the great qualities of Grandpa Thomas to her other grandparents.

She'd said that earlier, but Cuddy hadn't latched onto it in the first moments of homecoming. Now, she suddenly wondered. "What do you mean he's a horsey, Rachel?"

Rachel hopped down from her perch between the Cuddys, temporary abandoning the stuffed Ember, and trotted across to Thomas' chair. "I can ride! Be a horse again, Grandpa Thomas."

"Not right now, Rachel," he said. "Some other time, okay?"

"You were riding him? On his _back_?" Cuddy hoped she was misunderstanding. She still cringed at the memory of the sight of Thomas' badly battered and lacerated back, and that had only been two months ago. She still wouldn't have given her husband a sharp squeeze right over his freshly healed ribs. She'd last insisted on inspecting Thomas' back a few weeks ago, right before he went back to St. Louis for the last time to get the house closed out, and while healed over, it definitely did not look 100% good as new yet.

"Me, too," Abby put in. "Bad horse!" She scrambled down from Cuddy's lap to cross to her grandfather herself and glared at him, hands on hips. "You forgot how to go!" For Abby, explaining a system and then violating it was a hefty sin.

Thomas faced her seriously. "I'm sorry, Abby. That was when your other grandparents came, so we had to stop our game. Next time, I'll do what you tell me."

"The girls were _riding_ you?" Cuddy tried to clarify.

Susan shook her head. "Yes. Him right out there in the front yard on his hands and knees as we drove up and both of them on his back."

"At the same time?" Even worse. "Thomas, you shouldn't have done that."

He gave her a reassuring smile, but Susan spoke before he could. "Of course he shouldn't have done that. They might have fallen off and gotten hurt. Besides, what would people think?"

Thomas couldn't help replying to that, though his tone was still mild and friendly. "They would think we were playing, that's all. It was a fun game. Nobody got hurt during it, Lisa."

She forced herself to stuff down further interrogation until later, not wanting to agitate the girls by getting them worried about Thomas physically. At that moment, the front door opened, and House limped in, making no effort at a sneak approach as she had, but his strides were heavy and slow.

The girls charged over, Rachel winning the race. "Daddy! Grandma and Grandpa are here!"

"I saw their car." He picked up his older daughter and gave his in-laws a cautious nod as he hugged Rachel.

"Hello, Greg." Susan stood up, coming over to take her turn in the hug line. "We hadn't planned at first to stay long, but we wanted to stop by to make sure you were okay after your . . . accident." She managed to make herself use Thomas' word for it again.

"I'm fine, Susan." He put down Rachel and picked up Abby, then finally submitted with a martyred expression to Susan's hug, which he knew was unavoidable. She was at least careful as Cuddy had warned, and after releasing the squeeze, she ran a hand along his left side lightly.

"Are you sure you're all healed up?"

"I'm _fine._" His patience was never long, but he was trying to act routine for the sake of the girls.

Abby tugged at him as Susan stepped back. "Up, Daddy!"

"You already got up." He picked her up, though, giving her a second hug.

Abby looked at her new grandfather. "Grandpa Thomas 'prised them."

"I'm sure he did. They hadn't met him yet." He limped over to Cuddy's chair; walking while carrying Abby was getting harder. He hoped it was just some deconditioning after his "accident." It hadn't even been possible for several weeks recently. He made a mental note to practice more; he couldn't lose that, not yet. Cuddy scooted over to the edge of the seat so they both would fit; fortunately, neither of them was overweight, though it was still tight quarters.

Once he was seated, Cuddy leaned in for a quick kiss of her own. "We ordered a pizza, Greg. It will be here in about five minutes."

He nodded, not even remotely hungry. Rachel made a quick, excited circuit of the living room. "Pizza!" She retrieved her stuffed horse and then ran over to climb into Thomas' chair.

Abby, still nestled in her father's arm, looked back at him. "Grandma and Grandpa don't like 'prises," she announced with toddler wisdom.

House had to smile. "I'm sure they don't. I don't blame them." He looked over at Thomas. "So you've all been talking?"

"Rachel has, mostly. We're just getting to know each other a little." House found the reassurance he sought in the old man's steady eyes. The girls were okay. No doubt there would be hell to pay later, but for now, at least, it wasn't calamity. Yet. He was glad Abby had found an explanation that for the moment she was accepting.

At that moment, the pizza arrived. Thomas jumped up with an apology as he moved Rachel aside to go collect the boxes and pay. She hopped down and followed him to greet the pizzas in person. Rachel was always fascinated by the delivery people, apparently considering this some sort of magical power, that there were people in the world with the ability to produce pizzas on demand and others less gifted. Of course, they had eaten pizza out, but those didn't come to the door in boxes.

House and Cuddy looked at each other for a long moment under the cover of activity, and with a sigh, Cuddy stood. "I'll get some drinks. We might as well eat in here." Susan and Robert both couldn't hide the air of faint disapproval. Cuddy could not remember once eating a meal in her living room growing up; meals were formal and at a table, and furthermore, you used the correct silverware in each instance. That was how it _should_ be done. Even now, under her husband's tutelage, eating in the living room still could feel a little jarring to her at times, not that she didn't enjoy it. In fact, she did enjoy it, slowly learning to relax and appreciate that even meals sometimes could be an informal and enjoyable family activity and not a process that needed careful administrating, nor one that she had to feel guilty for failing to perform to her mother's standards.

She was hoping the more comfortable environment might help the meal along tonight. Not that the situation was likely to get anywhere close to comfortable, but she thought it had a better chance in the living room than in the kitchen, and she was worried about her husband. His leg was obviously hurting him tonight. She collected plates (in deference to her parents), napkins, and drinks, making a few trips back from the kitchen as Thomas set up a pizza buffet on the coffee table.

House set Abby down and heaved himself to his feet, retreating to the bathroom on pretense of using the facilities. Actually, he didn't want to take his meds in front of his in-laws. He'd done so several times before by now, but somehow, tonight, it seemed even more like starting off at a point of weakness for the ultimate conversation that loomed ahead. He sorted out the pills and stared at them before taking them one at a time. The Voltaren was indeed an improvement on the former ibuprofen, but the biggest difference was not in his leg. He'd discovered as the explosion damage healed and gave way to the everyday complaints that the new prescription worked better on the nagging aches in his right shoulder, knee, and foot, signs of the inevitable arthritis that he knew he was doomed to given his gait. Far more than the universal aches and pains of aging lay in the future for him, no way around that. But maybe this would buy him a little more time of being able to walk and carry his daughters. That was worth even having to explain himself to Wilson if the oncologist pushed. At least he hadn't refused to write the new script yesterday.

With a sigh, House exited the bathroom, returning to the others in the living room and still calling himself a coward, though still at least not in John's voice. Robert and Susan were filling their plates slowly. Thomas had already sat down in the recliner with a joint plate for himself and Rachel and was helping her with bite sizes, looking thoroughly at ease at the moment, so much so that House would have liked to hit him if he hadn't realized it was an act. Cuddy was getting some pizza for Abby, who as usual wanted both a little veggie lovers and a little meat lovers. She always had to live with one foot in each world, sampling all the options, almost visibly comparing, wanting all possible data before she made her final decision. House collected two pieces for himself, the minimum necessary to shove down with the meds, he thought, and he'd do well to finish that. Finally, he limped back to the chair, and Cuddy and Abby both waited and let him get installed first before joining him.

The Cuddys had known long since that mealtime conversation must be casual around their son-in-law. Thanks to that damned Patrick and their own supplemental observations on a few other matters since he had opened their eyes, they now knew far more about House than he wished, though at least they didn't judge him for it. Now Robert opened a frivolous topic, a joke and a few questions about Belle, but he was trying a little too hard.

Thomas stepped in. Taking control of the conversation firmly and building off Robert's attempted entrance, he launched into various tales of the stable cats at Ember's former barn. He could describe each feline personality so distinctly that the cats themselves could almost be seen prowling around the living room among the listeners, and he could make even small events - a mouse in the tack room, games with the lash of a whip - into near verbal movies. A watch carelessly set aside by the owner while a horse was given a bath on a hot day led to a barn-wide search with all the dedication and clues of a Sherlock Holmes mystery. Irresistibly, the girls were drawn in, soon even Abby watching him more than her other grandparents and hanging on each word of the story. House himself could almost forget the coming storm, and to his surprise, he finished his two slices of pizza before he realized it and even let Cuddy talk him into a small supplemental third. He had to hand it to the old man; he had a way with words when he wanted to use it. Even Robert and Susan looked impressed in spite of themselves.

As the meal finished, House knew it was his turn. After carefully washing off the pizza grease from his hands - approaching his beloved baby grand was only a few steps below scrubbing up for surgery - he settled in for an evening concert. His playing to his ears was a little stiff, not at his best tonight, but Rachel and Abby were both enthralled as usual. He pulled them in with frisky, fun pieces they knew, then skillfully gradually switched the tempo. They were already well past bedtime, and though a valiant fight was put up with the adrenaline of the evening, eventually both of his daughters were sound asleep. House softly finished his current selection and sat still, staring at his hands.

Cuddy stood. "Time out," she said firmly, looking at her parents. "We'll talk after I get them down, not until then." The Cuddys and Thomas nodded, and House pushed himself up, suddenly wanting to escape briefly as much as help. He picked up Abby carefully as his wife took Rachel. Getting them into PJs and tucked into bed was accomplished in near silence; Cuddy kept both ears peeled toward the living room, but for the moment, her mandate was obviously being obeyed. No interrogation, no conversation at all. Once the girls were in bed, Cuddy turned to her husband. "I'm sorry," they both whispered simultaneously. The required embrace and kiss were observed, but tonight, they were too aware of the ticking time bomb in the other room to truly enjoy them.

"It's not your fault," she insisted after they parted.

He shook his head. "I was being a coward."

"Greg. . ."

He interrupted her protest, suddenly wanting to share this new experience, and he wanted to share it with her above all. "And that's _me_ saying that. Just me."

Her eyes widened as it soaked in. "Really?"

"Yeah. But I was still a coward."

She gave him another embrace with more in it that time, and he _felt_ her pride coming through her hands, pride in him that was sweeter than he could find words for. Just for a moment, he let himself enjoy it. Might be the last thing he enjoyed tonight, after all. "Better go face the music," he mumbled into her hair.

She let go, carefully shutting the nursery door. With mutual reluctance, they walked back down the hall slowly into the hard-held silence.

Side by side, they squeezed back together into the chair. Cuddy wished she were at any board meeting in her entire hospital career rather than at this one. She opened her mouth, but even before the words found breath, Robert took his first shot. "What proof has this man given you for his claim?"

Sputtering in surprise, it took her a few seconds to reply. "What _proof_? He's . . ." She looked from Thomas to her husband. The outward resemblance was only superficial and might be called coincidence, but the longer you watched them together, the more things came out, mannerisms, ways of thought. Secure in the fact, she had trouble _not_ seeing it anymore.

"Have you done DNA tests?" Robert persisted.

"No, but I'm perfectly willing to if _Greg_ wants it." Thomas was courteous, but he still drew the line that this was up to his son, not to his son's father-in-law. "I went to basic training with John and then was stationed with him once a few years later, and that's when Blythe became pregnant. She always said there had never been anyone else."

"So you slept around with married women a lot, did you?"

Thomas was unruffled but direct. "No. It was just the one time."

Robert switched back to his daughter. "Have you at least had a private investigator check into his background?"

"Yes," Cuddy snapped, already fighting to keep her temper. "We did a full investigation." She wished her husband would speak up. A moment later, as House looked at her, she remembered that Thomas hadn't known yet about Lucas' assignment last summer. She tried to channel Patterson and regroup. "Dad, this _is_ Greg's father. We're sure of that. But like I told Mother a while ago, I'm sorry you had to find out about it this way. We weren't trying . . ." She skidded to a halt there as her mother glared at her.

"Oh, don't waste time telling us that you weren't trying to keep it a secret, Lisa. Obviously, every phone call we've had for the last two months, you were doing nothing _but_ trying to keep it a secret."

"Longer than two months," Robert said. "Rachel said she met him back at Blythe's funeral."

"The girls have only known who I was for two months," Thomas said, with a quick glance at his son first for unspoken permission. "There are many, many people who don't know yet, and Greg and Lisa wanted to work out the adjustments for themselves at their own pace without the world getting involved. There was a lot of media after the explosion, and that made things more difficult. I had never told anybody myself until a couple of weeks ago, and only my best friend knows now. I am sure that you would have been told soon, but I'm sorry as well that it happened like this."

Susan looked back at her son-in-law. "About that explosion, you obviously didn't just run into each other at the track like the TV said and you decide to ask Greg's opinion. How much of the public story was true?"

Cuddy seized the moment, seeing an opportunity to emphasize Thomas' heroic actions. He had saved many people's lives, her husband's included, even if his most personal action wasn't public knowledge. "_All_ of it, Mother. Except that he and Greg were spending a day together instead of meeting there by chance. Everything else you saw about Thomas on the news was true."

Susan unfortunately didn't look impressed. "Including that Greg was just there enjoying the races, and it was _you_ who got him involved in everything else in the first place? He wouldn't even have been caught up with that lunatic's plan at all if you hadn't pulled him in. And you're trying to call yourself a father?"

"We didn't know what would happen," Thomas pointed out. "If we had, several things would have been done differently." House flinched, tightening up suddenly beside Cuddy, and Thomas noticed. "But working with Greg that day is not something I regret. Nobody knows the future."

"Your own son," Susan insisted. "You put him into danger."

"Wouldn't be the first time, apparently." Robert jumped to the crux of the matter. Cuddy had known this was coming at some point in the conversation, but she'd still hoped she might just possibly be wrong. "If you are his father, then where the hell were you all his life growing up? Why didn't you _do _something?"

Thomas' voice was full of regret. "I didn't know. If I'd had any idea, I would have killed the bastard."

"But you knew he was your son? Or at least believed he was?"

"I knew he was my son," Thomas confirmed. "But I wasn't around . . ."

Susan cut him off. "Why not? How could anybody watch that monster and not know? While he was doing things like. . ." She looked at her son-in-law, realizing how much he had tensed up.

Cuddy was holding his hand tightly. "That's enough, Mother. We don't need a list."

"He _should_ have known."

Cuddy tried to calm things. "Mother, Thomas was never stationed with them after Greg was one year old. He only visited every other year or so for a day. Remember, Blythe missed it, and she was there full time. In fact, Blythe even. . ." She stopped. Her husband's fingers had twitched in hers, just faintly, but she felt it. A silent plea. _Not right now._ With a mental grumble at his insane loyalty to his mother, which even now cropped up at times though it was finally being balanced somewhat by acknowledgement of the negatives, she left the subject. "Thomas was only there intermittently. He didn't know."

"So how long _has_ he been around full time?" Robert asked.

House finally spoke up, his voice taut. "He moved up this last week."

"How do you jump from visiting every year or so in oblivion in childhood to living just a few neighborhoods over?" Susan demanded.

Thomas tried again on a calm explanation. He could tell they were reacting as much out of their hurt at the surprise as they were to the facts, and he wasn't sure how much they were ready to hear. But he also realized just how hard this conversation was on his son. He carefully tried to keep the emphasis on his own role, not on John's. "I had always stayed in the background because Blythe was married, and I had no idea of the truth. And yes, I agree that I should have noticed. I'd do anything to change that, but I can't." That last sentence was addressed to his son, not to the Cuddys, but then he turned back to them. "I never realized what had happened until I saw the media surrounding the Chandler trial. Then I came up to hear the evidence myself, because I hoped the press was just exaggerating things. That's when I re-entered Greg's life."

"But that was last July," Susan said. "That's _ten months ago._" She looked at her daughter reproachfully. "You've been hiding him from us for ten months?"

"Mother," Cuddy snapped, "it was Greg's business, and it was something he needed to work through himself. Unfortunately, we did have to leave you out while we got to know each other, but believe me, we weren't sitting there that first night after court plotting how to avoid telling you. It was just _private._"

"But we're _family,_" Susan countered.

"Besides," Robert put in, "an objective observer as a voice of reason on the outside is a good thing to have. Especially with something this big. We deserved to know."

Cuddy shook her head. "There were other needs that came ahead of yours," she insisted. "I apologize that it had to be that way, but it did. Greg and Thomas deserved to work things out between themselves without interference."

"We're not talking about interference," Susan insisted, "just about watching out for your interests."

"Greg and Lisa have been watching out for their own interests," Thomas emphasized. "And for the girls. Eight months between us meeting in court and the girls finding out who I was; they weren't being rash. They had every right to go slowly."

Susan wasn't ready for calm discussion yet, he realized. "Those are our grandchildren."

Thomas couldn't resist the answer, polite but rock solid. "They're mine, too."

Susan sputtered indignantly. House had been sitting on the edges to this point, trying to push back the memories of his childhood or at least the terror associated with them and doing a pretty good job at it, but suddenly, unexpectedly, he was gripped by another memory that was far younger. Blythe, just last December. Blythe, sitting on that couch right about where Susan was sitting now, and family discussions about as pleasant as this one going on, the emotional currents slowly accelerating. He still didn't know that it had contributed to her death. But he didn't know that it hadn't.

"Do either of you have any health problems?" he blurted out. He'd already interrogated the old man a few times in the preceding months, as well as heard the doctor who examined him in Philadelphia after the explosion. He felt fairly secure in the medical status there.

Cuddy looked startled, not having noticed the parallel herself until then. Thomas, who didn't know the full story of Blythe's visit and the joint sessions with Jensen, still knew enough to follow the thought. Susan and Robert both looked bewildered.

"Greg, what on earth does that have to do with anything?"

House leaned forward, his eyes boring into her, his muscles almost crackling with tension. "_Do you have any health problems?_" he demanded.

Robert answered just to settle him down, obviously not seeing the relevance. "I've got a little arthritis, Greg. You know I had that hip replaced back when Abby was born. And we're both on blood pressure pills, but pretty much everybody our age is on blood pressure pills. We're fine." Susan looked across at Thomas as if wondering, even hoping, that he was on blood pressure pills, anything to temper the image of him on all fours prancing in the yard with vigor while two toddlers were on his back.

House abruptly felt that he was suffocating. They'd just admitted to even more than his mother ever had, and she had sat there looking just as healthy as they did, and she was _dead_. And he still fought with the feeling at times that he had contributed to that. Not again. He couldn't do this again. "We aren't going to have a fight like this," he stated.

"But we need to talk about things," Susan said, but she was looking concerned now. "Are you all right, Greg?"

He jerked his hand free of Cuddy's and stood. "We aren't doing this," he reiterated. He limped toward the back door, needing to remove himself from whatever might be about to happen, fully admitting his cowardice, but he didn't care. He could _not_ go through this again. The door shut firmly behind him.

The remaining four adults sat in silence for a moment, and then Susan jumped to the attack, glaring at Thomas. "You've got that poor boy all tied up into knots. If you had any idea what was good for him. . ."

Cuddy shot out of her chair like a rocket. "Mother, _shut up._" Susan obeyed, startled. "Mother, Dad, I want to speak to you in . . . the first guest room." She started to say _our bedroom_ reflexively, but she didn't want their intrusion in there this evening. "Come on."

Susan looked toward the back toward. "Maybe you should go check on Greg."

"No, he needs a few minutes by himself." He had gone out the back door, not the front, a difference that wasn't lost on Cuddy. He wasn't leaving the house or the situation, just trying to get a little distance to regroup and once again climb over the memory of his mother's death. She was concerned about him, but she could do far better work on her own at the moment with a few good, home truths for her parents. Besides, he had reminded _her_ of Blythe now. Which was ridiculous; it wasn't likely to happen again that a parent would expire basically in front of them, but even so, the conversation hadn't been getting anywhere, and she wasn't going to let it escalate like that last session with Blythe had. Enough. "Come on, Mother, Dad." They stood slowly, and Cuddy took three steps, then turned back quickly. "Thomas, don't leave." That sounded a little dictatorial even to herself, and she tried to soften it. "Please."

His eyes met hers with a sympathetic compassion that nearly overwhelmed her. "I'm not going anywhere," he answered.

She relaxed. She'd meant right now, but it was reassuring to have the general affirmation all the same. "Good. We'll be back in a minute."

They turned into the first guest room, and Cuddy realized only after the door was closed that this was where Blythe had died. She made herself face it, pushing down the memory firmly. It was only a room. That was all. "Now _listen_. You are not going to drag out every piece of Greg's past to hit Thomas with while Greg has to watch. I'm putting my foot down right now. This is _my_ house. Our house. You showed up here tonight uninvited; Thomas didn't. You don't have the right to tear him apart. Everybody has made mistakes in life, you two included."

Susan straightened up. "So you've just decided to replace us; is that it? You're throwing us out of your life?"

Stressed and worried, Cuddy almost snapped back. So easy to seize the moment, to lash out, and to hell with a year's worth of therapy trying to improve this relationship. Trading them for Thomas sounded frighteningly tempting. It took every ounce of self control she possessed to make her hold back. "No. You're my parents. Nothing will ever change that. And I really am sorry you had to find out this way. It is complicated, and you aren't the only ones in the dark. But we are _not_ going to have more conversations like that one in front of Greg. Not in front of the girls, either. We've worked hard to make this house a refuge for the family. You aren't going to make it a place of conflict."

"Lisa, Greg really is stressed out. I've never seen him as tense as he was when he left."

Cuddy cut her off ruthlessly. "He isn't stressed out over Thomas. I mean, there's stress, because it's a change, but that wasn't what was bothering him then. You know Blythe died here last Christmas on her visit. In fact, she died in this room, in this bed." Robert and Susan both looked around at the bed with an involuntary cringe as if it might still hold a body that they just hadn't noticed yet. "_That's_ what he was thinking of. She died of a heart attack. It was late at night after she used the hot tub, but that's what we started reminding him of. He doesn't want another parent to die here, and as things heated up, he started thinking about heart attacks or something similar. He's still grieving his mother; it was just five months ago. You were bringing it back for him."

Both of them softened a little, sympathetic. "We didn't mean to upset Greg," Robert said.

"Well, we aren't going to from here on. We will _not_ dissect the past; that's too much for everybody. And we aren't going to continue conversations if anybody at all starts to get upset. Period. We aren't going to remind him of things. He's had to deal with too much in life already. If you can't agree to that, you can leave right now." She faced them squarely, not giving an inch. "Whenever you visit this house, from tonight on forever, you will treat everybody else here - _including _Thomas - respectfully and courteously. Even if you don't feel it, when you're under our roof, smile and pretend. Is that agreed?"

They both nodded grudgingly, and Cuddy was grateful for their regard for her husband. She knew only that had earned their vote of cooperation. "We would like to stay around for a while," Robert said.

Cuddy sighed. "Why didn't you call first?" she asked.

"We didn't think we had to," Susan said. After a moment, she yielded under her daughter's eye. "I thought you were hiding something," she admitted. "I thought it was about Greg being hurt worse than you two had told us, never suspected this, but I was afraid if I gave you advance notice, we couldn't see him, and you'd just have some excuse that he was busy. Robert suggested calling you last night. I was the one who insisted on springing the surprise." Even in the admission, she couldn't resist a look at her husband. "You told me I was imagining things."

"But you shouldn't just drop in on people from out of state. Even family. Do you realize what tonight is?"

"Friday?" Robert offered.

"This is our weekly date night. Greg and I ought to be out right now having dinner and seeing a movie. We had reservations at a restaurant. It's our special time together; we look forward to it all week. The point is, you don't know what somebody else might have had planned if you just turn up. You're disrupting their life blindly."

"Could you still make the movie?" Susan suggested. "We can watch . . ." She trailed off with a look through the wall at the living room.

"No. I mean, technically, we could, but we aren't going to. Neither one of us could possibly relax and enjoy it tonight at this point. And then you just invited yourself to stay, right in front of the girls, again without checking with us at all."

Robert still looked suspicious of the stranger in the next room. "If you're determined that he's here, we do need to get to know him. We're all family, after all. Apparently."

"Yes," Cuddy said firmly. "We are family. Including Thomas. He isn't up for election; the decision is already made. He is here, and that's not going to change. Only he's still trying to be respectful of our privacy and that this is our home. He's been so careful about it this last week since he arrived full time." She sighed again. "If you two want to get to know Thomas, not to put him through the inquisition but just to get to know him, I think that would be a good idea. He's a neat guy." She also knew that they would never just give up and go away, not right now. Their trip next week was as irrevocably canceled as her date tonight. Some time sizing up the new grandfather would have to be allowed. "But you aren't staying in this house."

They had been relaxing, sensing concession, but the spines stiffened again at the end. "So you _are_ kicking us out."

"Call this an object lesson to the girls. You can explain to them how impolite it is just to drop in on somebody without warning and invite yourself to stay. Plus, like I said, Greg has enough tension right now, and you're already reminding him of Blythe. I don't think he could relax with you sleeping here at this point. She died in her sleep. If you want to stay for a few days, get a motel room somewhere, and we can have dinners, and you can spend some time with the girls. _Some_ time, not all of it. We need time to ourselves, too. I'm not trying to throw you out of my life, but right now, you do not need to be staying in this house. In a few months, for another visit, where we _know_ about it up front and agreed, sure. Another thing is Abby. She's getting way too perceptive. Until you guys make peace with Thomas, I don't want you in full-time contact with her. She and Rachel don't know anything about John yet."

"Of course not," Susan agreed, and Robert nodded. Neither of them wanted to hurt their granddaughters, nor their son-in-law.

Cuddy started to feel like she might have actually won her point. She was afraid to let go quite yet, but at least this was progress, far better than the previous interrupted confrontation. "Thomas is a good man. If you give him a chance, I think you'd like him."

"He strikes me as a bit of a salesman so far," Robert admitted. "He's so smooth talking with those girls. And you should have seen him prancing around the yard." He couldn't resist a quick rub at his artificial hip. "Even you thought that sounded wrong, Lisa. It does seem like he's trying to get in tight with them as a way to get a hold on Greg."

"No," Cuddy answered. "He's respected Greg's limits on them every step of the way. And those limits have been steep. He did not have an open door to their lives; it was months after the trial before he even knew their names. Yes, he's good with people. But that's him. As for prancing around, the only reason I reacted to that is that he hurt his back badly in that explosion just back in March. That had to be a little painful for him still. But he was doing it anyway as a game for them. That was his only motive, just because they were enjoying it." The silence extended for a moment. "Stay in Princeton for a few days and watch him with the girls and with us. You'll be impressed if you give him a chance. But we are not going to have fights in this house over the past," she repeated. "That subject is closed. Period. Greg doesn't need that. And you act perfectly pleasant in front of the girls at all times. Okay?"

"All right," Robert agreed gruffly.

"We only want what's best for you and Greg and the girls, Lisa," Susan told her.

"This is what's best for us. But it's still a big change." Cuddy suddenly felt exhausted. "I'm sorry I had to keep this from you until now, but there were reasons." She turned for the door, and her parents fell into step behind her.

The house was soundless as they stepped out. It took Cuddy a few steps into the living room to realize that Thomas wasn't anywhere in it. Belle had reappeared, sitting in the recliner he had occupied and looking disapprovingly at the threesome.

Robert made his own quick visual survey of the room. "Cut and run," he said with the tone of a verdict signed, sealed, and delivered.

Cuddy shook her head. "He wouldn't. He's got more courage than anybody I've ever met except for Greg." She walked over to the window and looked out, but the sight of the BMW was only confirmation of something she already knew. "His car is still in the driveway," she told her parents. "Wait here." Leaving them with Belle, she headed for the back door herself.


	15. Chapter 15

After the guest room door closed behind the Cuddys, Thomas sat in the recliner debating. Lisa knew Greg better than he did, and she had said that Greg needed a few minutes by himself. But how many were a few minutes? It was Thomas' opinion that Greg had spent far too many minutes by himself in life. Retreat did help sometimes in processing things, though. Obviously, Blythe's death was all stirred up again for him. Thomas had always suspected more there than he had been told, but he knew better than to push. Even what he knew, Greg finding his mother dead that morning, was enough. It had only been a few months ago, the memories still vivid.

He thought his son needed some company, not pressure for details but simply company. But would Greg agree? If he went out there, the immediate suspicion from his son would be that he wanted the rest of it, to fill in the blanks in his knowledge, to protest the in-laws, something. Greg still equated company from others so often with pressure and expectations, even fault finding; the concept of companionship and support without other motives was slow in building. And whose fault was that? Damn it, if he'd just seen more on those few childhood visits and intervened.

Thomas sighed and shifted. Looking at his watch, he decided to give Greg four more minutes - that would make it an even 9:00 on the nose - and then go out to keep him company in the back yard. Tossing out the question of blame, an unproductive road that he knew every last pothole of anyway, he looked toward the guest room and let his curiosity work on that puzzle. He'd love to be a mouse under the bed in there listening. He could hear low but intense speech behind the door, Lisa's voice only, but couldn't make out the words.

At that moment, Belle caught his eye. The white cat emerged from Greg and Lisa's bedroom, low to the ground, cautiously advancing foot by foot as her ears swiveled. Thomas smiled. "The coast isn't clear, but it's at least moderated at the moment," he said. She walked with exaggerated care down the hall, diverting to pass the guest room on the other side, and then broke into a trot across the living room. She stopped at the foot of his recliner and looked at him as if trying to assign blame for the disruptions of the evening. He was at least quiet and still and increasingly familiar, though. She crouched.

"I'm about to get up in a minute," Thomas warned.

That, of course, was an invitation. She jumped up neatly into his lap, turned around twice, and settled down, still far from relaxed. He scratched her ears, and she purred. "How often do they come?" he asked her. She stared at the far wall, the distant gaze and her alert posture at odds with her purr.

Thomas looked again toward the bedroom. He had learned much more about Lisa tonight. On one level, it had been reassuring; as everybody had told him for weeks, there were issues there larger than he was. He wasn't responsible for disrupting that relationship. It was obviously a tense one already. Several more things also had been explained about Lisa. Just watching her greet her parents, addressing her mother as "mother" in the tone in which she might welcome a business associate at a social event, spoke volumes. Like a prospective donor, one far more powerful that she herself was, come to inspect her domain and pass judgment on how well it was being run. Her father, speaking of business, was clearly successful in that world and unfortunately had extended that expectation onto his daughter. Not that he didn't love Lisa; Thomas had seen true pride there, and he and Susan obviously adored the grandkids. But he had apparently had trouble letting his daughter know as a child that she didn't have to impress him as much as his business deals did in order to earn his approval.

Susan, now, was a type Thomas had a little bit of familiarity with, though with her own differences. She reminded Thomas of Tim's mother-in-law. That woman had expressed her emotion in terms of organization, structure, and price tags. It wasn't that she didn't _feel_ emotion. She just wasn't sure how to let herself feel it. So she tried to keep things under control instead, giving her daughter a structured, "stable" (as she had called it) childhood. Little spontaneity, little permission to laugh, constant fear of mistakes. Tim with his grandfather's playful streak had been a whole new world for Maggie. Thomas was glad that Lisa had Greg now. He'd be so much good for her, teaching her to let go a little.

Susan was also the source for Lisa's unacknowledged fear of horses. Her whole attitude at Rachel's enthusiasm over Ember had been so identical to and even stronger than Lisa's that Lisa's had been unconsciously copied from it. The exterior worries over the germs, the potential injury, hid an unacknowledged phobia beneath. Hopefully Lisa would be able to work out of it gradually, helped by love for her daughter. He doubted Susan would ever work through it at this point. Furthermore, he doubted Susan saw anything that needed working through there.

His watch hit the hour, and Thomas gently moved Belle aside and stood. She flick-lashed and glared at him, then realized that the spot where he had been sitting was nicely preheated. Kneading the cushion, she settled back down, and he gave her a final apologetic scratch on the ears. "Hold the fort," he told the cat. Then he slipped out the back door, going to his son.

(H/C)

House's momentum carried him halfway across the yard as he left the house, but it then abandoned him like a car running out of gas, and he stopped in the middle of the yard. He could feel his body trembling. Damn it. He had been trying so hard to keep the memories of his childhood at bay, but it was the memory of that bedroom last December that had overcome him. He could still see her lying there, already cold and stiff, could still feel his own desperation as he had tried to revive her. But it had been no use. She was _dead_. Permanently, irrevocably dead.

He was aware of his breathing speeding up, and with slightly fumbling fingers, he reached for the meds and fished out an Ativan. So much for his goal of the week. One of his main goals set firmly for himself back last Monday, anticipating the old man's arrival that night, was to manage to make it through this week of change without a panic attack. Until tonight, he had.

The pill dissolved under his tongue, and he could feel it steadying him. He blinked, fighting the tears back down. "Damn it, Mom," he whispered to the darkness, "why couldn't you _talk_ to me?"

Slow minutes ticked by in the dark. He could feel time marching on, even though he was still wearing his daytime watch. That felt wrong suddenly. He wished he had his grandfather's watch, which did have a comforting, decades-old tick.

The threat of tears retreated a little, as did the memories of that morning. He tried to focus on other moments with her, replacing the bedroom of death as Jensen had told him.

Cuddy. He'd left her in there alone, abandoned her like a coward and run. She was still having to deal with her parents. But damn it, he could _not_ watch another family fight like the one that had preceded Blythe's death. He simply couldn't take it. Probably nothing would happen, but if it did . . . the guilt would be crushing this time, both for him and for his wife. But he shouldn't have left her alone on the front lines.

No. Not alone. She had the old man with her.

The old man. What must he be thinking about tonight's events? Did he regret his move yet? Still possible to reverse it, even if expensive. His house back in St. Louis had just gone on the market. The furniture could be reloaded, the truck with the horse turned around. He still couldn't imaging anyone choosing him over that former settled life. The in-laws on top of it were too much to ask for anybody. He wouldn't even blame him.

Footsteps sounded across the yard in the dark. Not _her_ footsteps, and he stiffened up, waiting for the announcement. Thomas came up beside him.

Nothing. The old man simply stood there, about a foot between them. He didn't say a word. House was determined to wait him out, but he broke first in spite of his intentions. "So you've decided you should apologize for getting your poor, crippled son blown up that day in Philly?" It was a harsh, brittle challenge, not even starting at the crux of the matter, the decision to move back, but at least it would get the ball rolling.

Thomas sounded annoyingly matter-of-fact as he replied. "No. And you aren't a cripple, Greg."

House snorted. "Better get your eyes checked, old man."

"You're not," his father persisted. "You've simply got a bad leg."

"Semantics."

"No, it isn't. Suppose that Abby got hurt and was going to have a limp from now on. Would you take every possible opportunity to call her a cripple?"

House was silent. "You aren't a cripple," Thomas repeated. "And as for that day at the track, you were a wonderful partner to have alongside me. I remember thinking at the time that I sure could have used you with me on some missions I've known. You're _good_, Greg. Thinking on your feet, every moment. It's a gift."

"That you credit yourself for?"

"No. That I appreciate. I would appreciate it in a stranger, and I appreciate it even more in my son."

House fell into silence again. As usual, the old man wasn't reacting quite like he expected. He waited. Nothing. Thomas seemed perfectly content to star gaze out here in silence standing next to him if he wished, although House hadn't actually noticed that the stars were out until now. Not that much was visible with the city glow. He envied the few he could see up there, light years away from in-laws. Finally, House made himself ask it. "When do you leave?"

"I'm not leaving, Greg. I live up here now."

House shook his head. "Sure you want to after tonight?"

Thomas laughed, sounding genuinely amused. "Actually, I was just thinking a few minutes ago that I feel even more like a family member now. Things like this never get trotted out in full view of mere guests. You really think I'd give up a life with you and Lisa and the girls because of your in-laws? Every family has a few members who get more on your nerves than others, Greg. I even thought that we might bump into them accidentally at some point rather than setting it up, although I hoped I was wrong."

"You're not mad about that?" House asked.

"No. There aren't many things that make me mad, Greg. In fact, you already know the major ones. Routine family ins and outs don't come close to making the list; those are just life."

House filled in the only two occasions he had seen or at least heard. Thomas that night after the verdict, deliberately terrifying the defense attorney. House could still remember the icy fury in his voice, too intense to be scripted, unaware that his son would ever hear him say it. _"You attacked my son, you son-of-a-bitch." _ The other time had come a few months later, when in his constant poking at the old man he had made an unkind crack about Emily and hit a nerve. But then, while House had been waiting to see what happened now, Thomas after reacting sharply, leaving no doubt that a line had been crossed, had simply gone on as if nothing had changed between them. House was still bewildered by both of those episodes when he analyzed them.

Which reminded him of something. "So you know now that we hired a PI to check into you."

"I suspected that back in July, Greg. Not that your man wasn't good. I just sharpened my instincts in a harder school than he did. I knew somebody was watching me that first night after I followed the defense attorney home, and I got the same feeling a couple of times at the hotel after that. He wasn't there the night after the verdict, though. I thought he'd finished his report and given it to you. Did he leave a bug?"

"Yeah."

"And that's how you must have heard me with Stevenson." There was the hint of satisfaction there, Thomas' own curiosity about something finally confirmed.

House was still stuck on the timetable. "You knew in July? And that didn't bother you?"

"From you, no. You had every right to check me out. I could have thrown him off, but there wasn't any point. I had nothing to hide from you." House didn't reply. After a minute, Thomas went on. "If you want DNA tests run, Greg, I'm perfectly willing to give a sample."

House considered the offer, and to his surprise, he felt himself tensing up on it. There was basically no doubt of the biological fact left. The startling resemblance between him and his grandfather and between him and Tim, his musical talent, the gift for languages, the time table . . . He was 99% sure. Which, as he had often told the team, wasn't 100%. Doing the test would irrevocably remove that last percentage point and seal the fact. It would become a reassuring black-and-white answer on a page. But if, if, if that miniscule random chance came through and the answer was negative, House suddenly realized that he couldn't go through this again. He could _not_ do all this again, plugging yet somebody else into this slowly forming spot labeled father. If the test was negative, the whole last year would have been for nothing. He couldn't do that any more than he could face another parent having a heart attack after an intense family quarrel. For just this once in his life, 99% sure was enough, and he would forgo the scientific proof. "No point in blowing good money on it when we know the answer," he said gruffly. He waited, afraid for a moment that the old man would offer to pay, but Thomas simply nodded and changed the subject.

"Lisa's mother reminds me of Tim's mother-in-law." House turned a little to face him, listening. "She was a dragon. Tim and his wife agreed when they were married that they would never in their lives reside in the same state as her parents. She didn't approve of Tim at first, and she didn't approve of me. She thought Tim laughed too much. Made it sound like a fatal fault. Maggie hadn't laughed near enough in life before meeting Tim. I think that was half of the appeal at first."

House chuckled. "Does sound familiar."

"That woman really loved her daughter, though. Some people just aren't as good at expressing it. She thought organization was the way to show love."

"That _definitely _sounds familiar. Those two aren't always as stiff as tonight - they're pissed off right now - but they never really know how to relax."

"They don't like 'prises," Thomas quoted, amused at Abby's statement.

"No, they don't." House suddenly chuckled again. "Wouldn't have minded seeing their expressions at that first moment."

"They were priceless. I was worried about the girls right then, but I know I would have automatically filed the looks of shock to appreciate later. I'll draw a caricature at some point in a few days, and I'll spend an hour or so privately looking at it to get it out of my system so I can face them seriously after that."

"I want to see it," House demanded. Thinking of the first sketch of John's tombstone, he'd love to see what the old man might do with her parents.

"You can. They can't."

"Definitely not. They'd never give you a chance at all if they saw that. So they just drove up?" House asked.

"Yes. I was playing with the girls in the front yard, and the car pulled up. And they asked who I was, and Rachel introduced me before I even had a chance to."

House grinned, picturing it. "She's irrepressible." He went serious a moment later. "Did the girls handle it okay?"

"Yes. Lisa's parents were trying not to upset them. We silently agreed to postpone discussion until later."

House sighed, suddenly aware of the house waiting behind him. "I can deal with family, Greg," Thomas reassured him again. "And there are far worse than those two. They mean well. But no matter who shows up at this house, I'm not moving back to St. Louis. I'm here."

"Guess we ought to go back in," House said. "You left Lisa alone with them."

"She hauled them off for a private conversation. The only one I left was Belle."

House turned around, then jerked to a halt. Cuddy was on the back porch, standing there watching the two of them. "How long have you been there?" he demanded.

"Since talking about Tim's mother-in-law," she said. "I didn't want to interrupt you two." She walked down the couple of steps into the yard. "We have some new house rules that hopefully everybody understands better now."

House gave her an admiring look, recognizing the decisive chin tilt. "You're hot when you get mad, you know it?"

She came on up to him. "I'm sorry, Greg," she said. After a minute, she turned to Thomas, who had been hanging back a few steps behind his son. "And I am so sorry that you got dumped in the middle of this tonight, Thomas."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Do I get a kiss, too?"

She gave him one on the cheek, then looked back at her husband. "They're going to stay around Princeton for a few days."

He nodded. "Dynamite couldn't shift them."

"But," she continued, "they're going to get a room somewhere. They aren't staying here."

He stared at her in open admiration. "Wow."

Thomas nodded. "Wow. You've got a great one here, Greg."

Cuddy hooked her husband's left arm through her right. "Come on. They want to get to know you, Thomas. Or at least, they realize that they're going to have to. And please, keep any caricatures to yourself, or just between you and your son."

"You don't want to see them, Lisa?" Thomas asked.

One brief moment of temptation, and she dodged it by heading decisively toward the back door. House looked over at his father and caught a familiar-looking smile. No, really, no point in doing DNA tests. It wasn't that he was afraid of it; it simply wasn't necessary. Waste of money. That was all. Together, the three returned to the house.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Short chapter today. Hopefully a longer one and another favorite tomorrow for New Year's. A year ago on New Year's Day, I posted one of my favorite chapters from Hopes and Fears, the dinner at the hotel with all the adults for the first time in extended conversation face to face. That was 5 months ago in story time. So much has happened to our characters since then. Anyway, happy New Year to all if I don't manage to get the next one up tomorrow.

(H/C)

"And that's when I cracked and bolted. I just couldn't take it." House was sitting up in bed, propped against the headboard, a heating pad and the cat both draped across his thigh. Cuddy was in the living room on the phone with Patterson, and he was updating Jensen.

"You shouldn't have to take it," Jensen replied. "_Anybody_ would have felt trapped there with the parallels with your mother's death. That was only five months ago. In fact, Dr. House, I was just thinking a minute ago as you were talking that I probably already would have either stopped it or just walked out myself."

"Really?" House hadn't considered that.

"Yes. Do you know how often I've wondered if we pushed too far that night? Probably not as often as you have, but it's still many times. We'll never know if it would have made a difference, but faced with another situation that similar this soon after, I guarantee it would have gotten to me. I doubt you went too far tonight, but you were right to stop things. It doesn't sound like anything was getting accomplished at all right then. Where did you go?"

"To the back yard," House replied.

Jensen laughed. "Quite a retreat. You weren't running, Dr. House. You were just giving yourself time to regroup and giving her parents a lesson that they needed. What did Dr. Cuddy do?"

House smiled. "Wish I could have heard that. She hauled them off to the guest room and totally went off on them. Told them this is our house and they had no right to disrupt it, pointed out that they were the ones who dropped in uninvited, and got them to agree to be civil to everybody. _And_ told them they couldn't stay here since they hadn't made it a planned visit."

"Wow."

"That's what I said."

"Good for her. You said she's talking to her therapist right now?"

"Yes. She's in the other room."

"Good. She needs to decompress, same as you do. But really, it sounds like both of you have handled tonight very well. Often sending a firm message that you refuse to let an all-out fight happen, even if you have to walk out to prevent it, is the right course of action. It also got her parents to think. Did Thornton come out to join you while she was talking to them?"

House straightened up. "How did you guess that?"

"He wouldn't have just sat there. If she took her parents off for a lecture and left him alone, of course he'd go check on you."

"Yeah." House sighed, still working through that conversation mentally. "He said I wasn't a cripple." A second later, he regretted it. That wasn't where he'd meant to start at all.

"You aren't," Jensen agreed. "Did you call yourself one? He wouldn't have brought up the word."

House predictably dodged. "He said Susan reminds him of Tim's wife. She sounds like another stiff busybody. He also said he wasn't leaving."

"No, he isn't leaving, Dr. House. You can believe that by now." A moment's silence, and then Jensen left the back yard conversation to push on for a synopsis of the rest of the evening. They could dig into the father-son conversation later in sessions, but he could tell that House was running down quickly, the adrenaline yielding to exhaustion. He needed to finish giving at least a summary of tonight to get it logically laid out. That would help him. "What happened after your talk?"

House grasped the subject change gratefully. "That was funny. Lisa came out after she finished laying down the law to her parents. When the three of us went back in, they were trying so hard I had trouble keeping from laughing. _He_ did, too. They hated every minute of it, but they knew Lisa would throw them out totally if they started fights. Basic questions for a little while. Robert wanted to know his jobs in life, of course. The old man didn't stay too long. Said he was tired and left after only 15 minutes or so."

Jensen was sure Thomas had been tired, but he guessed that even more, his son had been tired, not to mention his daughter-in-law. Claiming he had had a long day was the best way to end the conversation, also letting the Cuddys see some "weakness" in him, which would help soothe their ruffled feelings just a little. The man really was a master manipulator in conversation. "And they left, too?"

"About ten minutes later. They had to act all shocked a little more, but Lisa didn't let it go too far. They're getting a hotel room. They have to stay and ask questions, but at least they aren't here." He sighed again, remembering his mother.

Jensen heard the shift. "You did well tonight," he repeated. "Like I said, anybody who had lost another parent that recently would have been reminded of it by that scene. You handled it well, and you kept the distant past back where it belongs."

House felt that odd flutter of pride in himself again. All at once, he wanted to tell Jensen, as he'd wanted to tell Cuddy earlier. "I wasn't hearing John tonight," he said. "I've still been acting like a coward, but it was only me saying so. Not him."

He heard the warm approval in Jensen's voice. "That's wonderful, Dr. House. You've come a long way. I'm happy for you." Another extended silence. "So the horse arrives tomorrow?"

House grinned. "Yeah. Rachel can't wait. Oh, that was funny, too. He invited her folks to come out to the stable with us in the morning. Susan looked like he was offering to mud wrestle them. Her parents are coming over for breakfast, but the horse will be just for us." Startled, he realized a moment later that he had included Thomas in "us."

Jensen heard it but knew better than to draw attention to it. "I wish I'd seen that. Well, Dr. House, it's late, and I'd better get to bed. You, too." He paused. "I'd take the full dose tonight, just in case. You've dealt so well with today, but you need rest, not dreaming about finding your mother."

"I'd already thought of that," House admitted. They had the sleeping pill carved down to a minimum dose now, and Jensen had even said he thought they'd switch to simply prn soon. Resetting a lifetime of sleep difficulties had been a long process, but they were right on the edge of victory with it by now. But yes, tonight, he didn't want to trust his subconscious.

"Good decision," Jensen replied. "Well done, Dr. House. For the whole evening, _including_ getting up and walking out. We can talk tomorrow night if you want to or not, whatever's needed. But send me a picture of Rachel at the stable, okay? I'd like to see it."

"I will. The old man asked Lisa to take pictures tonight when we were talking about tomorrow. He'll bring his camera for her. He wants some for himself, plus to send to his one friend who knows back in St. Louis." He settled back against the headboard a little more. "We should have known we couldn't keep it a secret."

"Yes. But there's nothing wrong with privacy, or with taking something at the pace it needs to go. It's a fine line to walk, but you haven't done as badly with it as you think. Good night, Dr. House."

"Night, Jensen." House ended the call and sat there, looking at the cat. "What do you think about everything?" he asked her after a minute.

Belle gave a jaw splitting yawn, glared pointedly at the empty other side of the bed, and put her head down, closing her eyes.

(H/C)

"Good job," Patterson said as Cuddy wrapped up her story. "Especially well done resisting temptation to just tell them they were replaced."

Cuddy hadn't mentioned how tempting that was at the moment. "They're my _parents_," she insisted.

"Yes. It's all right, Dr. Cuddy. You don't have to feel guilty for the thought crossing your mind. But they do love you. You know that. Not everybody is capable of expressing love in the same ways, and they are trying. So are you. That's good."

"The grandkids have been an eyeopener," Cuddy said. "I never thought I'd see those two soften up as much as they have. Still nothing like Thomas, but it's more than they ever showed to me and Lyla. And they love Greg. That's odd, really, how it seems easier for them with him."

"Not that odd. You share the full past with them, Dr. Cuddy. When you're trying to change things and do better, it's almost always easier with someone who is a fresh start, not with someone who shares all that history."

Cuddy had never thought about it like that. "That makes sense."

"Yes. You've also told me that they didn't welcome him with open arms at first. He didn't get an automatic pass."

"No. They were both worried about whether he was right for me. It was the piano with Mom. His playing that piece at our wedding. That's odd; I never thought of her as having a romantic streak. But that's where he won her over, and she's never wavered since."

"Maybe secretly, she has always wished for some grand romantic gesture like that to her. I doubt she'd admit it, because she knows she isn't likely to get one from her husband. But it's sort of like fairy tales. Even when you scoff and point out how things like that aren't reality, a little part of you would get right on the horse with that handsome prince in an instant if he rode up, and to hell with logic."

Cuddy laughed. "Maybe. It's still hard to picture Mom dreaming of things like that."

"Could you have pictured yourself there? Or were you afraid to admit wanting it for years, because you thought it wouldn't happen, so no point in wasting time waiting?"

"I suppose. But still, she's my _mother_."

"But also a woman. I think your husband playing that song spoke to that small part of her she keeps hidden. As for your father, you said the point where he finally let go was during Patrick Chandler's campaign."

"Yes. He finally saw Greg as a success. Of course, he looks for everybody to be a success, but it's usually purely business like. That's what I kept trying to emphasize to Dad, the successful doctor, but that wasn't what finally convinced at the end." She surprised herself with a yawn.

She could hear Patterson's smile. "You need to get to bed. Today has been long enough for you."

"Greg's talking to Jensen. I don't want to interrupt."

"I doubt they talked too long, either."

"Probably not. Greg is exhausted. I'm glad Thomas called a halt to the night when he did." She sighed. "Now there's just the next few days to get through with the Parental Inquisition. I hope Thomas doesn't think . . ."

She trailed off, and Patterson spoke after waiting politely. "He isn't going to think less of you, Dr. Cuddy. He loves you and your family. You and Dr. House make quite a pair. He's afraid that Thomas is going to leave, and you're afraid that Thomas will find something that he thinks less of you for. And both of you are wrong, you just as much as your husband is. But we don't need to get into that tonight. Just try to relax and let yourself believe it. It's all right."

"Any tips for the next few days?"

"Just take it one moment at a time. But I'm glad you stood up to them. Let them know you mean that if they start to go too far again. And there, we'll end it for now. Good night, Dr. Cuddy."

Cuddy fought back another yawn. "Good night. And thank you, Dr. Patterson."

After hanging up, she slowly walked down the hall, ears peeled. Once she was far enough to see past the half-closed door, she realized that her husband was asleep, still propped up in bed. At least he didn't still have the phone in hand. With a smile, she took a moment to make a last check on the girls, who were also totally out, then went into her bedroom and closed the door.

"Greg?" She touched him gently on the shoulder. "Greg. Come on; you can't sleep like this."

"Mmph." One blue eye finally opened, followed by the other one. Belle, without raising her head or opening her eyes, gave a low murmur of protest.

"Let's go to bed," Cuddy said. "We can talk more tomorrow, but today's been long enough."

"You talk to Patterson?"

"Yes. It helped." She didn't ask about his mini session. Instead, she picked up the heating pad and cat as a unit. Belle growled. "Slide down, Greg."

"Got to take the pills first," he admitted. She put the cat back down and went for a glass of water. He gulped down the handful of painkillers and sleeping pill, and she lifted the heating pad again as he worked himself down to horizontal. Belle gave a louder growl.

"Shut up," Cuddy told her. "I'm doing the best I can." Finally, with her husband lying down fully, she lowered the cat and heating pad again, then tucked the covers up around him. By the time she got into pajamas and turned out the lights, he was asleep again. She gave a final check of the heating pad but left it on low. Maybe it would help ease some of the kinks of tension from tonight and would help him walking at the stable tomorrow.

Crawling into bed beside her husband, she snuggled up. spooning against him, and his arm tightened around her in his sleep. "Good night, Greg," she told him, not needing a reply. His presence was reply enough. She drifted toward sleep, appreciating the calm, quiet atmosphere of their house. _Their_ house. Not her parents', not John's and Blythe's, but all theirs. Belle's purr rapidly sent her off.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Happy New Year, readers! Hope you are having a wonderful day, and enjoy this long and thoroughly fun chapter, which is another of my favorites in the story.

(H/C)

The wagon train, as House sarcastically called it, arrived at the stable outside Trenton Saturday morning. The House family in their car had followed Thomas' BMW; Cuddy had suggested all riding together, but he said he wanted to come back after the girls left and see Ember settled in and give her a good grooming. He came over to the Houses' for breakfast, and everybody was ready and waiting to jump in the vehicles when the call came from the shipping company. They were a little over an hour out.

Rachel was sitting forward as far as she could in her car seat, staring out the window as they pulled in, just waiting for the sight of a horse. She didn't have long to wait. The stable parking area already had several cars, a busy Saturday morning just getting started, and as they came to a stop, a woman led a horse out of the open main barn aisle. Rachel was mesmerized as the horse and soon-to-be rider passed within 15 feet of them, heading for one of the outdoor riding rings.

Thomas got out of the BMV quickly and came over, opening the back door on Rachel's side and starting to unbuckle her. Cuddy, getting out of the driver's seat right in front of him, saw a spark of pure excitement and anticipation in his eyes that made him look far more like a kid at Christmas than a 75-year-old man. He was just as wired today as his granddaughter was. She watched him with Rachel, giving her husband time to make his slower exit from the passenger's side and then extract Abby.

"Now don't forget, Rachel," Thomas admonished her as he finished undoing the last strap and picked her up.

"I won't," she promised seriously. They had had another review of ground rules over breakfast, with Susan's disapproval silent but unable to be completely hidden. Any time Rachel was at the stable, she could not run, could not be loud, and had to stay right with an adult. Also, she wasn't going to be allowed to ride Ember, who was too big for her. Thomas made it clear that even he wasn't going to ride Ember today. The mare had had a long trip and would need to settle into her new environment and relax for the rest of the day. Rachel had immediately agreed to all of that. Just _seeing_ Ember would be a dream come true. All of the pictures were about to come to life.

Thomas gave her a hug as he lifted her from the car. "This is going to be fun," he whispered in her ear, and she happily hugged him back.

Setting her down but keeping a close eye on her, he removed the digital camera from around his neck and handed it to his daughter-in-law. "Here you go, Lisa." She had had basic orientation to it earlier. He hoped that the extra layer of distance provided by the lens would help her today. Also, of course, that the pictures themselves would tell their own story to her later, when she had space away from the looming presence of horses to really relive the moment through her daughter's face.

House came around the car, holding Abby's right hand in his left. She was looking around avidly, soaking it up. "You remember, too, Abby," Rachel told her firmly. "Don't scare Ember."

"Okay," Abby agreed, still looking all around. Rachel obviously wasn't sure if she _really_ understood the importance of Ember's feelings, and Thomas intervened before they could get into a minor verbal spat.

"Come on, Rachel. Let's go in the barn." He took her hand. All thoughts of lecturing her sister immediately vanished at the magic invitation. It was like a password to a world she had never in her young life seen, only read about. _Let's go in the barn._ A cave of hidden treasure wouldn't have excited her more.

Thomas watched his son carefully as they walked toward the aisle. Greg was moving better this morning and had apparently had a good night's sleep, and he, too, had curiosity about this morning's events, though he was trying to pretend it didn't matter. Lisa on the other hand hung back slightly, letting the two men and the two little girls lead. Thomas was looking forward to sharing this world with all of them.

This barn was fairly large and had two long aisles, both with sliding doors open to the pleasant spring morning, plus an indoor ring laid across the far end of the aisles like the top bar of a capital T. They turned into the barn at the first aisle, which had a small sign next to it reading Office. Cuddy couldn't help reading the other sign posted below that, a legal notice with code specifically cited that pointed out that under state law, equine activities had an inherent level of risk and that the barn was not liable for any injuries that might occur to people voluntarily participating in those activities.

The stable manager was just exiting the office, the first room on the left, as they entered the barn. She smiled. "Good morning, Thomas. And these must be your granddaughters." House sighed softly. The old man had had to tell her something, after all, to explain bringing the girls along on this and no doubt several future trips. House knew especially after last night that he couldn't keep even the illusion of a secret about their relationship much longer.

"Yes, this is Rachel, and this is Abby. And my son, Greg, and his wife, Lisa. This is Marilyn McIntyre, the barn manager and main trainer here." Thomas' eyes lingered on his son's for a moment as he made the introductions, and House absorbed the point. He and Cuddy weren't introduced by last names, were simply Greg and Lisa. She knew they were his son and daughter-in-law, but she still didn't know who they _were_. The privacy as near as possible had still been maintained.

Of course, there was the news still. He waited for any spark of recognition in her eyes that this grumpy, ruffled man with a cane looked familiar, but there was none. Caught in the onslaught of Patrick's exposure of his life, he still had trouble reminding himself that not _everybody_ followed the media rabidly. This woman, he quickly decided as the visit continued, probably was bored by any news that came without four hooves and a mane somewhere in it.

"Good to meet you." Marilyn knelt down, getting on eye level with the kids. "I'm glad you're here. Thomas said you especially like horses, Rachel."

"Yes." It was almost a whisper as she tried to keep from being loud.

Marilyn smiled at her. "So I guess Thomas told you you have to be quiet in here, right? Well, you do, but you don't have to whisper. It's okay to talk, Rachel. Just don't squeal or yell, okay?"

"Okay." Rachel relaxed a little.

"And you have to stay with the adults and listen to us all the time. Can you do that?" Rachel nodded, and Marilyn turned to Abby. "Do you like horses, Abby?"

Abby, as usual, took a moment to think through the question. "Don't know any," she answered finally.

Thomas chuckled, and Marilyn grinned. "Well, I guess you can't know if you like something until you've met it. So why don't we meet a few horses while we're waiting?"

"Yay!" Rachel gave a small hop, but she was careful to keep the volume down.

Marilyn stood up. "Have you heard from the truck?" she asked Thomas.

He looked at his watch. "About 20 minutes, roughly."

"Good. Her stall is all ready, and we've got an empty paddock in the line of turnouts to put her in and let her stretch her legs for a while when she first gets here. You signed the liability release earlier in the week when you brought your tack, so the only detail left is her Coggins test and health papers, and those are on the truck with her. "

_Liability release?_ Cuddy thought.

Marilyn turned down the aisle. Each stall had an opening over the door, and several heads had popped out, looking at them curiously. She stopped at the first stall, giving the occupant a pat on the neck. "This is my own horse, Teddy." Teddy nuzzled her, then stretched his head and neck down as far as they would go over the door, sniffing at the girls.

Rachel reached a hand up, and Thomas picked her up quickly. "Don't reach for his nose, Rachel. You never start with a strange horse by reaching for the nose. Is it all right to pet him, Marilyn?" The manager nodded. "Here, pat him on the neck first." He patted the gleaming bay neck himself, demonstrating, and Rachel gave it several pats herself.

"He's _soft_," she said.

House came up next to them and picked up Abby. "You want to pet him, Abby?" Abby reached out for a few pats of her own on the neck, obviously running a softness quantification.

Thomas looked over at Cuddy, who was a few feet away. She looked tense. "Pictures, Lisa," he reminded her softly, and she fumbled with the camera, picking it up.

"Teddy likes little girls," Marilyn said. "He's too big for them to ride, but he's friendly. You never try to pet a horse without asking first, though, like Thomas did just now. Not all of them are as friendly. Some of them like to be left alone more."

Abby nodded, and Rachel asked Thomas, "Is Ember friendly?"

"Ember is friendly, but Ember is _tall_. She's even taller than Teddy here." Cuddy gulped. The horse in front of them already looked like a monster.

"You said she was 17.2?" Marilyn asked Thomas.

"Yes," he said. "Light, though. Not drafty. She's half Thoroughbred, and it shows."

"17.2 what?" House asked, unfamiliar with the units in question.

"Hands. A hand equals 4 inches. Ember is 17 hands plus another 2 inches, or 5 feet 10." Cuddy cringed again, feeling her own petite size.

"Why don't they just call it 17 1/2 hands?" House objected.

Thomas shrugged. "I _have_ tried to learn that, but apparently, it's just tradition." He sounded a little offended at that explanation himself.

"And the other half is Trakehner, you said. She must be beautiful. I'm looking forward to seeing her." Marilyn turned away from Teddy with a final pat. "Come on down here, girls, and we'll meet somebody closer to your size."

Only the nose and head were visible on a stretch over the stall door she was approaching. She picked up the halter from the hook beside the door, opened the latch, and walked in. A moment later, she led out a gray pony into the aisle. "This is Dreamer. She's 12 hands."

Rachel pulled Thomas forward eagerly, then remembered and paused. "Can I pet her?"

Marilyn smiled at her. "Yes, you can pet her. Thomas won't even have to pick you up this time."

Dreamer was stretching her neck down, and Rachel reached up to pat it all over. The pony turned her head and snuffled her, and Rachel giggled. "She tickles!" Thomas looked over at his daughter-in-law. She was still standing back, wary even with the smaller pony, but she was at least taking pictures.

House approached with Abby. "Here you go, Abby. Pet her on the neck."

Abby reached up and did so but asked at the same moment, "Why?"

Thomas pointed. "Look at her eyes, Abby? See how her eyes are on the sides of her head? Your eyes are in your face, but hers are set over. If you had eyes where she does, your eyes would just about be in your ears." Rachel giggled at the image, but Abby looked thoughtful, trying to plug that biological fact in.

"They don't have binocular vision," House realized. He'd never actually been close enough to a horse before to consider eye placement. He studied the pony.

"No, they don't," Thomas confirmed. "They have two very wide panoramic fields that don't _quite_ meet, so you get just a few degrees of dead zone directly ahead and directly behind. Their eyes are designed to scan the plains all around for anything approaching while their heads are down grazing."

Abby was still trying to grasp a concept she had no previous example of. "She sees sideways?" she asked.

Marilyn looked impressed. "Yes, she sees sideways. How old is she?"

"Two and a half," House said with pride, getting the answer in just before Thomas could.

"Very articulate as well as observant," Marilyn said. Rachel was clearly the one with the full horse bug, but Abby really was something.

Thomas smiled at his younger granddaughter. "She sees sideways. So when you come up beside her, you're actually right where she can see you best. They don't see detail that well at a distance, but they see movement very well. Then, she'll focus on it with her ears and smell to tell exactly what's coming."

Abby nodded wisely. "She sees sideways." This new fact obviously made her morning. After a moment, she went on. "Belle sees right?"

"Belle sees like we do, since her eyes are in the front of her head. Only she sees a lot better in the dark. Horses see better in the dark than we do, too."

At that moment, the truck was heard approaching. It couldn't have been missed, the sound audible way down the small road. "Ember!" Rachel gave Dreamer a final pat, then pulled Thomas eagerly toward the door. Marilyn laughed and quickly returned the pony to her stall, then followed the group.

Once outside, House confirmed what his ears had told him. This was a full-sized semi, not just a regular horse trailer. It lumbered up, slowing carefully, then swung in through the fortunately wide gate. Marilyn had caught up by this point and directed it to a broad grassy area where there was room to turn back around. The riders up in the ring halted, either reassuring their horses or just watching curiously. The semi stopped with a sigh of brakes as if tired after its long journey.

Thomas carefully let go of Rachel's hand. "I've got to deal with the men and Ember, Rachel. You stay back with your father, okay? You can't run up in the middle of things. You might scare her."

"Okay," she agreed. She retreated a step to be beside her father, and House offered her the little finger on his cane hand to hold. The girls were used to that system and were always careful not to pull him.

The driver jumped down from the semi, clipboard in hand. "Thomas Thornton?" he asked as Thomas approached.

"Yes. How's she doing?"

"She's fine. No problems." The man removed a few sheets from the clipboard. "Here are the health papers."

Thomas passed them on to Marilyn. A door halfway along the side of the semi opened from the inside, and then a ramp folded down. Cuddy eyed the steep angle. "The horse can come down _that_? Without falling?"

"Easily," Thomas told her. "A lot harder if she had a rider, because we throw their balance off, so it would have to be a good rider, but just coming down herself, not a problem. You need to watch the Man from Snowy River sometime."

The second member of the team appeared again at the top of the ramp. Taking out large "wings" of plywood, he started attaching them to the sides of the ramp, forming walls to give a visual barrier just in case the horse tried to short cut and jump off the side. He double-checked that they were secure, tested the slip-proof mat on the ramp, then disappeared back into the body of the big truck. Thomas came to attention eagerly, watching.

A clatter of hoofbeats, and then Ember appeared in the door. The mare seemed impossibly tall to Cuddy, and she tried to remind herself that at least some of it was an optical illusion right now since Ember was several feet above their position. Cuddy picked up the camera and took a picture just of the horse for Thomas later. She was glad of the camera. It was helping her a little with this morning. She kept an eye on the girls, especially Rachel, but her older daughter was being very serious today, even while excited. They hadn't had a single exuberant gallop lap since leaving home.

Ember was obviously excited; Cuddy didn't need any horse experience to tell that. The mare had her head up like a giraffe, scanning the new and unfamiliar world outside the door. The man holding the rope spoke to her, though Cuddy couldn't catch the words. In the next second, Ember's nostrils suddenly fluttered, and her ears swiveled like radar dishes tuning as her head turned. Then the ears pricked forward, focusing straight on Thomas in the group as her nostrils quivered again. She whinnied loudly and pawed the floor, tugging at the rope.

Rachel took a deep breath as she stared. "Ember," she said, and House was reminded by her tone of the line from the song "Maria." "_Say it loud, and there's music playing. Say it soft, and it's almost like praying_." Rachel was praying right now.

Ember pawed again, and that time, they all heard the man at her head. "Here!" It was half growl, half command, the tone speaking more than the word. Gentle but firm, he insisted on her attention again. Nothing in the world was an adequate excuse for shenanigans on that steep ramp. Ember sighed and stood still, and Thomas nodded in approval. "He's good," he said.

The driver nodded. "He'll get her down all right. We do this several times a day. This one's not a problem, just a little excited."

They took so long poised at the top, the man making it clear who was in charge of the timetable, that when they finally did move, the descent was almost over before the watchers realized it had started. They came down the ramp swiftly but steadily, walking straight down, and in only a few steps, they arrived on the ground.

Thomas went forward, dropping a soft, "Stay back," behind him. House and the girls, with Cuddy just beyond them, watched as Thomas went to his horse. He touched her - on the neck, House noted - and said something too soft to be heard, and she turned her head and rested it on his shoulder. Letting out a long sigh, the horse visibly seemed to relax before their eyes. _He_ was here. Even if nothing else at all was familiar, he was, and that for Ember was enough. Thomas patted her a few more times, then fished in his pocket for one of the miniature carrots he had stocked up on before leaving his house this morning. Ember crunched it down.

Handing the rope back to the other man, Thomas went around the horse, feeling down each leg carefully for any swelling or heat. House noticed that he kept a hand on the mare's rump as he walked directly behind her, keeping physical contact at the point where he would have been crossing from her left vision field to her right. Arriving back at the head, he gave her another carrot.

The driver stepped up with the clipboard, careful not to let the pages flutter in the soft breeze. "Half down and half on delivery," he said. "We've got your card on file for the second charge, but we need you to sign that you received her."

Thomas signed the paper after giving it a quick scan, and the driver tore off one copy and handed it to him. He folded it and stuffed it into his pocket, and Ember's ears pricked. "Oh, you think there's something else in that pocket?" he teased her, and the transport team laughed. He pulled out another mini carrot.

The man who had brought Ember out looked at his watch. "Better get going," he told his partner. He handed the rope back to Thomas and went over to start disassembling the plywood wings on the ramp.

"Where are you heading now?" Thomas asked curiously.

"Massachusetts, then Maine. This trip, at least. Next, trip, who knows?" The driver shrugged. "One thing about this job, we do see a lot of different places." He gave Ember a final pat on the neck himself. "Lovely mare."

"Thank you." They all heard the clear pride in Thomas' voice. Not the same as with the grandkids, but it wasn't a great deal less. Ember was standing still now, ears focused on him. She was as near as could be to a red horse, and her black mane, tail, and lower legs set it off. Cuddy took another picture for Thomas.

The ramp pulled itself back up against the truck on a hydraulic lift, and the side doors were closed. The driver turned toward his cab. "Thank you, Mr. Thornton. Keep us in mind if you ever need us again."

"I will, but I'm not planning on it."

"We'll give you a chance to move the horse before I start back up."

Marilyn had come up beside Thomas, looking admiringly at Ember and giving her a few soft words. "Thank you. Come on, Thomas. We can put her in the second paddock for now to let her run. " She started for the row of six small paddocks for turnout beyond the driveway, and Thomas followed, Ember walking along easily next to him.

House was slower, of course. By the time he and the girls and Cuddy got there, Thomas had already gone in with the mare, and Marilyn had closed the gate behind them. Thomas unclipped the lead rope and stepped back to the fence.

Ember looked around, scanning the surroundings not only with eyes but with ears and nose. She had small ears for her size, and they were often in motion, at least in the strange environment today. At that moment, the semi started up. The mare bolted as it laboriously turned and pulled out. Flying around the paddock, her tail streaming out behind her, she was the picture of raw, unbridled power. Her hooves thundered on the ground.

"Thomas, watch out!" Cuddy couldn't help calling. He was still in there with her, though standing at the side.

He turned his head to give her a reassuring smile. "She's not going to hurt me, Lisa. She's just stretching her legs and working some kinks out."

Cuddy cringed as the mare pounded by again. She wished he would get _out_ of there, but she was afraid to say anything else, afraid he would turn his head again instead of keeping both eyes squarely on the danger.

House dropped back beside her. "The horse knows where he is, Lisa. She turns shorter on that side every time instead of going clear to the fence. She's leaving room for him."

Cuddy hoped he knew what he was talking about. The truck rumbled off into the distance, and gradually Ember slowed down. She shifted from a gallop down into an extended trot, still doing laps, tail still flying like a flag. Thomas walked along the fence to a trough in the corner of the paddock. "Here, girl," he called.

Ember turned and trotted toward him, and he splashed the water lightly, drawing her attention to it. She took a few swallows, then turned back to nuzzle him, liberally dripping all over the front of his shirt. He chuckled. "Thanks a lot. Just what I needed." She bumped him with her nose again, then suddenly took off on another, shorter gallop spree, throwing a few bucks in. Finally she slowed again, dropping down to a walk. Neck down, she snuffled at the ground, moved a few feet, and then snuffled that section, pawing it with one foreleg as if testing it.

"Watch this, girls!" Thomas called.

Ember buckled at the knees, collapsing to the ground and flipping herself over. Now upside down, she rolled vigorously from side to side, waving her black legs at the sky, driving her back into the dirt. Rachel and Abby both laughed, and even Cuddy had to smile. It looked so ridiculous from an animal that size.

Ember finished rolling, then picked herself back up in two stages, front half, back half. On her feet once again, she shook herself vigorously like a dog after a bath, and dust flew. With a happy snort, she was off again for two more laps, then trotted to Thomas and touched him with her nose, then zoomed off again.

After about ten more minutes of this, with the mare regularly revisiting Thomas briefly, then trotting away, he stepped out from the fence into the middle of the paddock. "Ember," he called. She came to him, and he clipped the lead rope onto her halter, then pulled out another mini carrot to give her. Then he led her over to the gate.

"Come on, girls. You can say hi to her."

Rachel started forward eagerly, nearly pulling her father off balance for a moment before she remembered and waited. House limped up to the gate. This was going to be tricky with both girls on his side. They would simply have to take turns being held up; there was no way this horse was within reach from their level. The old man had his hands full on the other side of the gate with the rope. Cuddy saw her husband's difficulty and started foward, feeling like she was walking into quicksand, sinking deeper at each step, in danger of suffocating before too long.

Marilyn looked at her and quickly moved to the gate instead. "No, you're the designated photographer, Lisa." Cuddy stopped in relief as the barn manager turned to Rachel. "May I give you a boost, Rachel?"

Rachel nodded vigorously - she would have accepted a lift from Atilla the Hun to get closer to Ember. House at first tensed up, taking it as a cripple insult, but then he looked at his wife and fought the resentment down. There was no way, even propping himself against the gate, that he would try to hold both of them next to the horse. One toss of that head, and they'd all go flying. He simply wasn't capable of it, and no point in forcing Cuddy to a full panic attack to make her be the one to help him. Everybody there realized the problem already, including Marilyn.

Marilyn picked up Rachel, holding her up next to the horse. "Hi, Ember," Rachel said softly. She reached out and patted the red neck just below the mare's head as it stuck over the gate. Thomas kept a good hold on the rope and watched Ember's ears. The mare was curious, but that was all. She had seen many little horse-crazy girls at her old stable, even if this one came a little smaller than standard. He looked at Cuddy.

"Pictures, Lisa," he reminded her. Cuddy tried to make herself give up analyzing how close Rachel was and how tall Ember was. She retreated a few steps and focused, once again a little steadied by the distance of the lens.

House carefully braced himself as well as he could in case he needed to move quickly and lifted Abby on the other side. "Here you go, Abby." He saw Thomas' knuckles tighten a little on the rope. The old man wouldn't let the horse turn suddenly and knock him and Abby over. He felt a little reassured by that even while he resented it.

Abby patted Ember a few times, but she seemed more interested in studying the mare's eye, so close to her hand. "She sees sideways," she stated.

"Yes, she does," Thomas said. "She's seeing Rachel on my side right now and you on your side." After a few minutes of patting, Abby wiggled and wanted down. Rachel wasn't close to having enough of this. Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out another mini carrot, and Ember went into orange alert, ears pricked, at full attention. She started to turn her head to take it, but Thomas and Marilyn between them (the manager caught Ember's halter with her free hand) held her straight.

"Here." Thomas extended the hand that wasn't busy with the rope. "Look, Rachel. This is important. Hold your hand _flat_. Like this. See how flat my hand is. Don't curl your fingers up at all; Ember might mistake them accidentally for a bite on her way to the carrot if you curl them. Perfectly flat. Just put the carrot on your hand held like that, and Ember will take it off." Rachel studied his hand, trying to copy it adequately. "Okay. Move your hand over under her mouth, but keep it flat." He was ready to pull the mare away if needed, as was Marilyn, but Rachel kept her hand absolutely straight. Ember lipped the carrot off, and Rachel smiled ear to ear.

"She kissed me!"

House rolled his eyes, though he hoped Cuddy had taken a picture of that moment instead of just palpitating. "She kissed the carrot, more like."

"I want 'nother one."

"Let Abby if she wants to," Thomas said. "Do you want to give her a carrot, Abby?"

Abby looked up at her father briefly, then at the horse. "Uh uh," she said. No fear in her voice, but she didn't want up again. House wondered suddenly if she sensed that _he_ was getting tired.

Thomas took her answer at face value. "One more, Rachel. Then we'll take Ember to her stall, and then we'll go have lunch in Trenton somewhere. After that, it's time for you and your parents and sister to go back home." He'd come back to check on the mare again after lunch and groom her.

"No!" Rachel protested sharply. It was the loudest by far she'd gotten so far, and Ember looked at her.

Marilyn took a step away from the horse and set Rachel down, kneeling to face her. "Rachel," she said firmly, "you _can't_ do that. Not if you want to come to my stable. Understand?"

Rachel realized instantly what she'd done. "I'm sorry," she said. "I won't yell. I promise. " She looked up at the mare. "I'm sorry, Ember. I didn't wanna scare you."

Marilyn picked her back up. "It's okay, Rachel. I know this is exciting. But you have to remember to be careful around them, even when you're excited. All right?"

Rachel nodded. Marilyn held her back up next to the horse. "This is the last carrot, and then we're putting her up and leaving," Thomas repeated.

Afraid to protest too much now, Rachel simply said, "Can I come again?"

He smiled at her. "Yes. Some other day. Not today, and it won't be every day. We need to give Ember a chance to settle into her new home." He held out the final carrot. "Keep your hand flat, like I showed you." He looked over to his daughter-in-law. She looked tense but had the camera ready.

Rachel held out the last carrot, keeping her hand flat, and Ember took it gently, crunching it with relish. Rachel gave her neck a few more pats. "Bye, Ember," she said.

Marilyn set her back down next to her father, then opened the gate, and Thomas led Ember out. The group followed them to her stall, where Abby perked back up, commenting on the new nameplate on the stall door, determinedly spelling it out step by step.

"It says that on her halter, too," Thomas told her. "Only you weren't on that side to notice it before." He removed Ember's leather halter and came back out of the stall, latching the door before he pointed out the nameplate on the left cheekpiece. "Right there it says Ember."

Abby spelled it out again, a little faster this time. Rachel ignored the halter, still looking up at the horse herself standing there with her head over the stall door, and even after Thomas picked her up, Rachel watched as long as she could see while they walked back up the aisle toward the cars. As they exited the barn, she said it softly once again just to herself, a prayer, a dream, an explorer on the threshold of a new world.

"Ember."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: A few people have asked about Ember and where there are similar pictures. Big Brown, who won the Kentucky Derby recently, is a blood bay, and there are plenty of pictures of him on search engines. I consider the name a travesty; I know he was named for UPS, still think it's totally lacking in dignity that a horse's name should have. But he is a good example of a blood bay. If you search "Big Brown stallion" and pick the link from Three Chimneys Farm, where he stands at stud, then click on "conformation" on the left of his page, the resulting full body shot is a good example. Another blood bay who was a personal favorite of mine was Alysheba, 1987 Kentucky Derby. Google "Blood Horse Alysheba slideshow," and you will get the tribute Blood Horse magazine did on his death. Pictures 1, 24, and 27 are especially good examples. You can also Google "Frog the Horse that Knew No Master," and the link from Goodreads has the edition with a picture of a blood bay jumping on the cover. Keep in mind that all bays change seasonally depending on summer/winter coat, and some are naturally much brighter than others at any time. There's a lot of range. Ember is very bright. Anyway, those horses will give you an idea.

Today's shorter chapter is brought to you by the letters S, N, O, and W. Reviews warm up the writer! Enjoy this little family scene.

Next chapter might be later today, depending on how projects while housebound go. If not today, it definitely won't be tomorrow, which has to be Sunday and Monday both and absorb the Mom rounds. But it will come ASAP.

(A/N)

Saturday evening, the Wilsons came over to eat with the Houses and Thomas. The two families often got together at least once during the weekend, but tonight had already been booked as a post-Ember update. Wilson and Sandra had been warned earlier in the day about the surprise addition of the Cuddys.

With the meal in the oven but not quite ready, most of the group at this point was looking at pictures. Thomas had downloaded his camera that afternoon after getting Ember groomed and had emailed the whole set to his son and his daughter-in-law, so two computers were providing slideshows at the moment. Cuddy was sitting dutifully between her parents with her laptop and clicking through each as they watched. House was in a recliner with the Wilsons hovering on either side inspecting each shot on his computer, and Thomas was in the other recliner with, intermittently, Rachel.

Rachel was far too excited to stay in one place too long. Having aroused from reverie, she made frequent gallop rounds of the living room, accompanied by hoofbeats, whinnies, and snorts from her stuffed horse. She regularly stopped at Thomas to ask how Ember was settling in, never tiring of the same details over and over. She had already seen the full picture set on the camera at lunch and had been in paradise when Thomas promised her an enlarged print of her with Ember for her room.

Abby was in her father's lap, and he had taught her to advance to the next picture. Daniel, whose vocabulary was limited but persistent at this stage, toddled from one person to the other, family, friends, and strangers alike. He would always stop at each and smile, looking up with chocolate eyes. "Hi!"

He popped up just now at House's knee. "Hi!" he said again.

House sighed. "Didn't the first five times count? Hi, squirt."

Undeterred, Daniel moved on to Thomas. "Hi!"

"Yep, that's Wilson's kid," House commented. "Teaching him the charm early, aren't you?"

Wilson smiled proudly. "It can't be taught, House. Some people just have the gift." He nodded toward the screen. "That's a really good one." Rachel was feeding Ember the carrot.

"Not bad," House agreed, but he couldn't hide his own proud smile.

Susan, from over on the couch, shuddered, and House wondered if she was looking at the same shot. "Lisa, that horse is so BIG. She shouldn't be that close to it."

"Her," Thomas corrected under his breath. It was so soft that Susan didn't hear him, but House and the Wilsons did.

Cuddy was tense herself but thoughtful. Seeing it there on the screen, the magic apparent just from the look on her daughter's face, was powerful. "He did keep the gate between the horse and the girls, Mother."

"Obviously not enough of it. The horse is right there!"

"But Rachel looks like she was having a good time," Robert offered.

"There are less dangerous ways to have a good time. People can get _hurt_ by horses." Susan looked over at Thomas, obviously holding him responsible for this infatuation of her granddaughter's.

Cuddy looked like she wanted nothing more than to agree, but she tried diligently to present her daughter's case. "Rachel has been noticing horses for a while on her own. When we watched the Thanksgiving parade on TV, the Budweiser wagon was there, and she was just staring."

Wilson laughed. "I remember when the broadcast changed to the next entry in the parade. She got mad at the TV. Didn't see why it couldn't stay with the horses clear through."

"Ember isn't as big as those Clydesdales," Thomas said. "But the horse bug in a kid is either there or not. I've met people at the last barn who didn't get to indulge it until 35, and they'd still never lost the dream."

"Hi!" Daniel popped up next to Susan and smiled at her.

"Hi," she replied distractedly. Cuddy looked at her mother, then back at the pictures.

"Next one, Abby," House said. Abby started to advance to the next picture, but at that moment, the email chime sounded. "Just a minute. I need to check something." They had a brief tussle over the touch pad, and he gave in. "Okay. See the pointer on the screen. Move it over here. Whoops, a little too far. Right there. Okay, now tap." Wilson behind him smiled, wondering what the odds would have been on a bet five years ago at PPTH that this scene would ever happen. House was going soft in his fatherhood.

The email was from Jensen, a reply to the pictures House had sent him. "Read it!" Abby insisted.

"I think the next picture has both of you, plus the horse," her father offered.

Abby started trying to sound the email out on her own. "A. . . d. . . o. . .r. . . .a. . . b. . . l. . . e."

"Wow." Wilson couldn't help being impressed. He looked at his own son, wondering what his special gifts and areas would be. As if hearing the thought, Daniel toddled back over to his parents.

"Hi!" he said, as if he hadn't seen them in years.

Sandra picked him up for a hug. "Hi, Daniel. You want to see a horsey? Look at the computer."

The computer, though was still on the email program. "What does that say?" House asked, pointing at the first word.

"Ad. . . or. . ." Abby tilted her head, studying the screen.

"Break it up. What's the first letter?"

"A."

"Good. Okay, the next three."

"There are easier words to work with, House," Wilson noted.

Abby turned around and glared at him. "No!" she scolded. With true Housian determination, she turned back to the one in front of her and resumed working with her father.

Wilson smiled. "And that one's definitely yours, House. Doesn't listen to me at all and refuses to make anything easy."

"It can't be taught. Some people just have the gift," House said, tossing his own words back at him. He pointed to the next letter. "D. How do you get in the house, Abby?"

"Door!" She looked at the email. "D . . . or. Door."

"Yes. On the sound, at least. Now put the word together so far. "

"A door."

"Right. Now, the next part . . ."

Rachel galloped past at full whinny. "Ember says hi!"

"Hi!" Daniel replied happily, smiling at her, but she was already gone in another direction.

Thomas and Robert were both watching Abby with similar looks of pride. Susan, meanwhile, was still caught up protesting the pictures. "I hope you at least gave both of those girls a bath when they got home."

Cuddy studied her mother and sorted through the words, reading a background that she'd never truly realized before. With a sigh, she stood. "I'd better check on that casserole."

(H/C)

"What a night." Cuddy closed the bedroom door. The girls were asleep, all of the company was gone for the moment, and the house was theirs again.

"What a day," her husband corrected. He sat down on the bed and kicked off his shoes. Cuddy would have protested at one point, but she realized since getting together with him that shoes were an effort under the best of circumstances, which the end of the day almost never was. Part of it was innate defiance of John House's regimented household rules, but not all. She picked them up without comment, not even by body language.

"Yes. At least my parents were a little better with Thomas tonight."

"Wilson and Charm School, Jr., helped things." Cuddy paused in the process of starting to get undressed, stopping to face him, and he shook his head. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it. I've been good today. "

"I was just thinking, Greg. It would really help if you'd tell Mother and Dad that you invited Thomas to move up, that you want him here. Hearing it from you would carry more weight with them."

He tensed up, and all pretense of joking faded. "He can speak for himself."

"Yes, but they love you. I think they'd believe you more than they do me."

He shrugged and dodged, changing the subject. "You ought to talk to Patterson about the thing with horses."

She absorbed the jab, knowing he was just feeling emotionally trapped himself. "I . . . actually, I was thinking of it," she admitted slowly.

Surprise and then pride swept across his face. "Really?"

"Yes. Watching my mother tonight . . . I realized how much I'm turning into her."

He pulled her into his arms. "Trust me, you have a LOT more going for you than she does."

She shivered and leaned into him. He felt so strong and steady against her. "But they are big, Greg. And people do get hurt."

"Come here." When they parted a moment later, he said, "This could be really good for Rachel. I've never see her be so quiet and focused as this morning, in a good way. Almost like Abby with the piano."

"I hope so. She needs to find something that's hers, so she won't feel left out." She resumed undressing. "What did Jensen say besides adorable?" The reading lesson had been interrupted by the meal after that word was conquered.

"Same thing, that this would be good for her." And that he had a beautiful family. House saved that tidbit to himself, treasuring it, afraid to voice it out loud. He started unbuttoning his shirt. "Let's see if we can find something else to do today that your mother wouldn't approve of."

She laughed. "All right, but they leave the house right now, even mentally. Nobody can mention my parents for the rest of this night."

His blue eyes sparkled. "Deal."

She wound up breaking her own rule, of course. Later, after he was asleep, she lay there awake thinking. The images wouldn't stop scrolling through her brain. Rachel's intensity and look of wonder. Her daughter's smile when she said, "She kissed me!" as the horse took the carrot. The mare thundering around the paddock, pure power, frightening strength that even the ground recognized. Her mother's reactions looking at the pictures.

Finally, she slipped out of bed and put on her robe. Belle raised her head with an inquiring murmur, her eyes glowing in the dark. "Stay here," Cuddy told her, but the cat hadn't even started to stand up from her position on House's leg.

Cuddy walked down the hall to the living room and pulled out her laptop from the desk, scrolling through the full set of pictures again. Abby looked merely interested, but Rachel was enchanted. Finally, Cuddy retrieved her cell phone and then dialed.

"Hello, Dr. Cuddy."

"Am I calling too late?" she suddenly worried.

"No, I was still awake. Reading a book and petting the cats. How did today go?"

Cuddy sighed. "Do you think that . . . fear. . . can be contagious?" Such an ugly, difficult word, fear, but she managed to climb past it.

"I think that it can certainly be _learned,_ sometimes even subconsciously. It's a very powerful emotion, Dr. Cuddy, even though there are stronger ones."

Cuddy looked at the picture on her laptop screen. Her daughter, clearly in heaven at that moment. "I think I am afraid of horses."


	19. Chapter 19

Sunday, Thomas started out what he hoped would be his new daily routine. He had turned down an invitation from Lisa for breakfast, though he'd agreed to come eat with them that evening. No, today, he had his own fish to fry, and he would give his son's family some breathing space, or at least as much as the Cuddys would allow them. Besides, he didn't want to face Rachel this morning and her interrogation for his plans that day. Young as she was, there would be far more days without her than with her at the stable, but no point in rubbing her nose into it.

So he started out with a solitary breakfast, then took a long walk, still testing various options for his daily route. Back home, he put on his boots to go with an old, soft, well worn pair of blue jeans, and then he headed out to the stable.

Ember was still very alert today, more so than usual. The new surroundings weren't yet home. He knew how she felt: Change, even if good, was still different, and she lacked the understanding of what was going on that he had. From her point of view, someone had simply uprooted her and stuffed her in a semi for two days.

He double checked that she had polished off her morning grain, which she had, and that she wasn't running a temperature after her trip and still had no heat or swelling in her legs. Then, after a good grooming, he saddled up. The first half hour he spent up in one of the outdoor rings, letting her look around but reminding her that she still had to listen to him here. After she had relaxed enough that he felt like they were tuned into each other, he headed out for a very short loop on one of the trails, not going far at all but giving her a preview. The good things from the former life would still be in the new one.

"It's going to be an adjustment," he told her softly, "but I'm still here. And Rachel will love getting to know you. Not that she's going to be riding you, but some day, we'll ride together." He laughed, picturing a small pony trotting beside the long-legged mare. "We'll make it work somehow, Ember. If we get too far in the lead, we can just wait."

Both horse and rider were much more relaxed when they got back to the stable. As he dismounted, he paused while running the stirrups up so that they wouldn't catch on anything while dangling empty at her sides. One of his stirrup leathers was starting to show a little wear. Nothing dangerous yet, but he'd probably better replace it before it got that far. Stirrup leathers took a lot of pressure, especially during mounting.

Another weekend rider arrived as he was giving Ember an extra long grooming with extra carrots, and they fell into conversation as they worked on their horses on adjacent sets of cross ties. When he left the stable twenty minutes later, he had both a new friend and a complete critique of all the tack shops in the area.

One in a shopping center in Trenton had been advertised as having the best prices but still good merchandise, and he drove in that direction instead of heading back to Princeton. Budget was, at the moment, a bit of a consideration. As he'd told Greg back in Lexington, he was drawing two retirements plus Social Security, and normally his income was far over his outflow, but this had been a very expensive month. Shipping Ember had cost him $1500, and the moving van bringing his furniture cross country had been more than that. Plus the downpayment and closing costs on his new home, which had required dipping into the savings he'd built up for years. At the moment, he was carrying a new mortgage, too, but as soon as his much larger house in St. Louis sold, which he owned outright, he could pay the new one off plus make a nice profit. Things would be fine in a few months, and he had more funds in savings available now if needed, but he was certainly glad that not every month in his new life was going to carry the bills of this one.

He found the tack shop and, of course, spent far more time there than required for his errand. No horse person could resist thoroughly browsing around a tack store. Armed with new stirrup leathers and with a horse book (it was on sale, he justified), he checked out.

It was almost noon now, the large shopping center getting busy with weekend traffic. He walked toward the BMW, then stopped with a smile mixed with concern. A black kitten sat in the parking lot between lanes of cars, back turned to him, licking itself. Emily, absent from his thoughts for an hour or two at a time now when his attention was caught by life, flooded back in. She always had loved black cats, stating that contrary to belief, they actually represented good luck.

"Better move, little fellow," he called. "That's a bad spot to pick for a bath."

The kitten turned at his voice, and Thomas' smile vanished. The right front paw was impossibly twisted and dangling at an angle nature never intended, and the kitten's yellow eyes were wide with pain and terror. The small animal bent his head again, licking futilely at the paw and flinching as he did so.

"Here, kitty, kitty." Thomas slipped into stealth mode, moving forward slowly. "Easy, boy. What happened? Did you get run over?" The kitten ran painfully before he made it halfway, dodging under a nearby car.

Keeping a close eye on the car, which didn't have any others around it, Thomas stopped at the BMW, throwing the tack shop sack into the back seat and then retrieving his winter driving gloves from the glove compartment. Putting them on, he returned to the other car and bent over.

The kitten was up against the far tire, eyes glowing. The animal hissed at him. Thomas dropped down to the ground. "Easy, now," he said, using the same voice he did when Ember was spooked by something. "I'm just trying to help you. Easy, boy. Or girl or whatever you are, but you don't mind if I call you boy for the moment, do you?" With infinite patience, he advanced under the car one slow inch at a time, never stopping the stream of conversation. At the same time, he kept an ear out for car doors, but his height came in handy here. He was climbing under from the driver's side, and with his legs and feet sticking out, someone would have to be blind to miss seeing him as they got into the car.

Another inch gained. This kitten wasn't feral, clearly. He was in pain and terrified and having a very traumatic day, but the soothing voice was having an effect, and Thomas was on the same level now instead of looming overhead. The black kitten shrank back against the tire as Thomas came on, but he didn't try to run until the last second, and by then, Thomas was close enough to catch him on the grab. The kitten hooked into the gloves with teeth and claws, but Thomas hung on. He was trying to be aware of the bad paw, but he could adjust grip in a minute; the most important thing right now was not to let go. He knew if he lost his captive now, he'd never make it close enough a second time.

Thomas crawled backwards out from under the car and was just scrambling to his feet when a slightly familiar voice came behind him. "Are you all right?"

Finishing standing, he turned around to meet air. Looking down farther, he found himself face to face with all 5 feet 1 inch of Dr. Ruth Patterson. "Do you know where there's a vet?" he asked urgently. He held out the kitten, which had stopped trying to claw free and was simply limp, waiting for doom to fall. Thomas could feel the animal's racing heartbeat even through his gloves. "He has a broken leg. I think a car hit him."

Sympathy flooded her green eyes. "Poor little kitty. There's an emergency animal clinic about a mile away. Here, let me drive, and you can keep hanging onto him."

Thomas nodded. "I'm afraid as soon as I ease up, he'll bolt. He's terrified." Patterson lead the way to her car, and Thomas tried to shift his grip to avoid the bad leg. He couldn't see any blood on a quick visual scan, but it was obviously broken, possibly dislocated, too.

They reached Patterson's car, and as she opened the passenger's door, the limp kitten came to life. With a yowl, he tried to take flight. Thomas held on with an effort, but the kitten was scrambling now, every inch of him struggling for freedom. He yelped again as he banged his paw in his battle.

"Easy." Thomas tried to settle him down, but the kitten was frantic. Pattersom grabbed a blanket from the back seat of her car. "Here." Thomas did his best to hold the kitten out while Patterson wrapped him. They wound up with a blanket burrito with only the head sticking out. Powerless to resist now, the kitten went limp again, and Thomas got in the front seat while holding the blanket. Patterson shut the door on him and broke into a light, graceful run for the few steps around the front of her car.

The drive was made mostly in silence other than mutual comforting words to the kitten. The emergency clinic was reassuringly close, and Patterson came around to open the car door again and then the door to the building. Thomas passed the wrapped kitten to the attendant behind the desk. "He's got a broken leg. He was in a parking lot, and I think he got hit by a car."

"Poor little guy. Wait a minute." She disappeared into the back. Reappearing shortly without the kitten, she sat down at her computer. "They'll check him out. So this isn't your kitten?"

Thomas sighed. _Damn it, Emily, I was just thinking of being on a budget for a few months._ He could almost hear her laughing at him. Only last night, he had been considering getting a pet, something to give him a little company at home, and she had always said that pets found the people they needed rather than vice versa. "I guess he's my kitten now. Or she. I was too busy holding on once I grabbed him to check under the tail."

"We'll throw in that info free of charge," the receptionist joked, smiling at him. "As long as there's no collar or microchip, he's available to whoever will cover his bills."

"Definitely no collar. I couldn't have missed that. You'd better scan him for a chip, just in case. I'll check the lost and found sites, too. No houses nearby, but I guess he could have been just lost in a parking lot."

"We always scan them for chips anyway." She opened up a new file on her computer. "May I see your driver's license?"

Thomas took off his gloves, taking a moment to inspect his hands, with Patterson and the receptionist leaning in for a second and third opinion. The kitten hadn't broken the skin anywhere in his struggles. Pulling out his wallet, Thomas gave her his new license from New Jersey, which he had just gotten on Thursday, as well as his cell phone number.

"Do you want to wait here, or should we call you?" the receptionist asked after entering everything in the database.

Thomas considered, and Patterson spoke up. "I'll buy you lunch," she offered. "It comes free with a rescued kitten. Special offer, this week only."

He chuckled. "Now there's an invitation I couldn't refuse. Just call my cell phone when you know what he's going to need," he said to the receptionist.

Patterson knew Trenton well, obviously, and she took them to a corner grill nearby. "Wonderful hamburgers here," she advertised as she pulled in. "Plus great grilled cheese sandwiches, which are my favorite."

They placed their orders and then picked a booth. "So, Thomas Thornton," she said, studying him across the table. "You're looking a lot better than you did last time I saw you."

"That wouldn't take much." The hospital look was only marginally better than the post explosion rescue look.

"How's your move to Princeton going?"

"It was going fairly smoothly until Friday night. Did Lisa tell you yet what happened Friday night?" She sat there looking steadily at him. "No, of course you aren't going to answer that. This conversation is going to get complicated. You probably know all about me already, but you won't be able to admit it, so most of what I say is just reruns for you."

She shrugged. "Without saying what I have or haven't been told in sessions, I _like_ reruns. At least with some shows. I enjoy finding a show that's worth watching over and over. What happened Friday?"

Her sincerity was warming, and he could catch a glimpse of humor behind those eyes. This situation amused her as well as catching her interest. "I was baby-sitting, and Lisa's parents abruptly turned up. They didn't know about me yet, so it was a surprise to all of us, especially them."

At that moment, his cell phone rang, and he pulled it out. It was the animal clinic. "Hello?"

"Mr. Thornton?"

"Yes."

"This is Dr. Grace at the emergency clinic." The vet's voice was tight with shielded anger, and Thomas sat up a little straighter, waiting. Patterson, across the table, watched his expression, obviously feeling stuck outside the communication loop herself for the moment.

"How bad is the kitten's leg?" Thomas asked, already switching framework mentally from accident to intention. Had he been hit with a baseball bat instead of run over by a car?

"It's a bad fracture dislocation. The whole joint blew apart from the socket. But he wasn't hit by a car. That's not an impact injury; it's a torque injury, and it's one I've seen three times before, with eyewitnesses to what happened on two of those times. That kitten was thrown, Mr. Thornton. Somebody grabbed him by the paw and flung him as hard as they could using the paw as a handle, and the force of flinging him shattered the shoulder joint."

Cold fury filled Thomas. "Does he have any other injuries? Old or new?"

"He has badly bruised ribs across the left side. Now _that's_ an impact injury. He probably crashed into something like a wall or the ground when he was thrown. Other than that, no old injuries I could find, and we checked him out thoroughly. He is a little underweight, and he has fleas. But I don't think he's been actively mistreated physically before this, and judging from the swelling and inflammation reaction, this is a very fresh injury. It happened today." The vet sighed. "Probably chewed up an Ipod cord that had been left out in plain sight dangling or didn't use a litter box that hadn't been cleaned in a week. Something that knocked somebody over the edge, and they threw him out. Literally."

Thomas was thinking. "Could it have been from a car? He panicked when we started to get into the car to take him to the clinic. He wasn't even fighting as hard as that when I caught him a minute before. I was wondering then if he associated cars with the pain."

"Definitely could be from a car. One of the other identical fractures I've seen, that cat was thrown out of a car that stopped for a second and just had the door open and the cat tossed out before they gunned it."

"Is it fixable?" Thomas asked.

"Yes. Fortunately, he's also young, so he'd heal more quickly. We'll have to pin the shoulder socket back together, and then the leg will be splinted for several weeks to protect the joint. After it heals, we'll have to remove the pins in a second procedure. I think he'd have a minimal limp if at all within a few months, certainly a useable leg. Estimated cost would be $2200."

Thomas flinched. "Go ahead," he said. "How old is he, by the way?"

"Roughly four months. We can do the surgery this afternoon. He'll need to stay for a day at least to make sure he's adapting to the splint and getting around all right walking on it instead of the leg. But if nothing goes wrong, he could be picked up late tomorrow afternoon."

"All right. Give me a call once you finish the operation and let me know how he's doing." Thomas hung up.

"It was intentional?" Patterson asked. She'd been watching his expression as well as listening to his half of the conversation.

He nodded and filled her in. She looked furious herself by the end of his report. "_People_. Sometimes they make me wonder if there's hope."

"Yes. But then after meeting people like those, I usually run straight into others who have a heart, and I remember what most of them are like."

She smiled across the table at him. "Yes. There are more good ones than bad, I'm convinced. But the bad ones still jolt you when you run into them by just how unfeeling they can be. I also have to worry about future actions with something like this. Cruelty to animals is the foundation a lot of times for cruelty to people." She waved a hand at the food, which had come while he was on the phone. "We'd better eat it while it's hot."

He picked up the burger. The conversation between bites drifted back to his report of Friday, but then he firmly turned the subject. "This isn't fair, you know. Both of us realize that you already have most of the story on me, and it's only professionalism that keeps you from admitting it. Don't waste time denying the fact. But all I know about you is that you're Lisa's psychiatrist and that your husband's last words to you were to remember to go to the bank."

She had to concede the point. "You're right; that seems a bit lopsided. Assuming hypothetically for the moment that it's true. All right, I'll give you the basics on me. I'm 56. I know I look younger, but that's hair color. Grant me a few vanities here and there."

"We all have a couple hiding in us," Thomas agreed, but he recognized the faintly wistful look in her eyes, still present but at a distance of years now. It wasn't vanity that made her color her hair but some memory. He wondered if her late husband had admired the color of it. It was what Thomas automatically categorized as plain bay, or would be if she had a black mane and tail to go along with it and meet the technical definition of bay. Not Ember's red tones, nor the rich mahogany of dark bays, but a medium muddy brown. But he'd known several nice horses who were plain bay, and it did go well with her startling green eyes.

"I've been a practicing psychiatrist since I was 36. Second career; I was a school teacher before that. My husband was a firefighter, and he died 18 years ago." She stuck the second fact onto the first quickly, not really wanting him to ask why she had switched careers, he could tell. But Thomas had sensitivity as well as curiosity. He left the question alone for now, instead asking where she had gone to medical school and if she had always lived in New Jersey

The information exchange proceeded throughout lunch, Patterson carrying more of it with good grace. She was interesting as well as articulate, and Thomas found that he was enjoying himself. She gave him a lift back to his car at the shopping center afterwards, and as he started to get out, she handed him a card with her information. "Please let me know how the kitten is getting along. And how you're getting along. Remember, firsthand reports beat secondhand ones every time."

He was smiling as he got back into his car and she pulled away. "Well, _that_ was interesting," he said to the world in general. The world, if listening, was silent. He turned on the ignition and headed for his new home.

He told the extended family about the kitten that night, not going into personal details of the lunch conversation but being sure to throw the fact of meeting out there for Lisa to absorb. "Ruth Patterson was the woman I met in the parking lot. She gave me a ride to the emergency clinic and then bought me lunch."

She considered that, not disliking it, in fact liking it after she thought for a minute. The confidentiality concerns did obviously cross her mind, but she then relaxed, apparently thinking she could trust them both by now. "She's a cat person," she said.

"She certainly had her vet locations down pat. Very helpful."

Rachel was stuck back on the important central fact to her of the kitten. "Somebody threw him?"

"Yes, Rachel. Somebody threw him."

"Is he okay?"

"He will be. He had surgery this afternoon to fix his leg, and he's going to have it wrapped up for several weeks, but once it heals, they think he'll be fine."

"Does he have canes?" Abby asked.

"Canes?" Robert asked.

"Crutches," Greg translated. "We met a boy in the park several weeks ago with a broken leg, and Abby was fascinated."

Thomas had to smile at the image of a kitten on crutches. "No, Abby. He's going to have his leg in a special splint. The splint will have the leg inside it so his weight goes on the splint when he walks, not on his paw. But a kitten couldn't use crutches."

"Who did that to him?" Rachel asked.

Thomas shook his head. "I wish I knew. There are bad people in the world, Rachel. More good ones, but there are some bad ones." He could tell that all of the adults present were thinking of John House.

Rachel stiffened up indignantly. "I'll throw _him._" They all smiled at the fired-up toddler, and she took offense. "It's not funny!"

"No, it's not," Lisa reassured her. "We know that, Rachel."

She settled down quickly under the assurance, unable to hold a grudge long. "What's his name?" she asked.

Thomas had been thinking about that. "Jetsam," he told her. "But we'll call him Jet for short."

"Jetsie?" Abby repeated the strange word.

"Jetsam. It means something somebody threw away."

Rachel was annoyed again. "You don't throw away cats!" she stated.

"You're right, Rachel, people shouldn't. But some people do."

"Can I see Jet?"

"Not right now, Rachel. He's in the cat hospital."

"Tomorrow? I wanna see Jet."

Lisa stepped in. "I'm sure you'll see Jet sometime, Rachel, but probably not tomorrow. He just had surgery today. He needs a few days to start feeling better."

Rachel accepted that explanation, even if reluctantly. "Poor Jet."

"I think the food should be just about ready." Lisa stood up to go into the kitchen, and Thomas, in the recliner, came to his feet. Robert and Susan were watching him closely, analyzing. He gave them a friendly smile, which seemed to throw both of them off, and they immediately pretended that they hadn't been studying him at all as the family headed for the dining room table.


End file.
